The Only Star in the Sky
by dauphinemarielouise
Summary: For as long as Albus Potter can remember, he has been in love with Scorpius Malfoy, who has always been vague about his feelings towards Albus. So Albus devises a seamless plan to confront the object of his affections. But confrontations, often mean revelations, and Albus might have stumbled onto a greater secret than his own.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey guys- I know I've been talking about writing a new AS/S story since time began, and here it is! Yay! This story is a little bit dark but not in the horrible character death kind of way. More in the mystery/ film noir kind of way. Think of Albus Potter as a private eye solving crimes in the 30s, staring at Scorpius Malfoy in a a long silk robe, unsure if he's evil or not. That sort of thing, but the dubstep remix, lol. _

* * *

Part One:

Albus adjusted his collar uncomfortably. His robes felt too tight. When _had_ the high-necked robes come back into fashion, anyway? Albus was sure that he looked like a fool. A well-dressed fool, but a fool nonetheless.

Albus adjusted his collar once more. It was rapidly becoming a tic, of that he was certain. About him, the patrons of the _Blue Siren _were consuming their meals, partnered up in the same little circlets that had governed over the world since Hogwarts had begun to hold Yule Balls. Albus sat alone, in a darkened corner, milking his second glass of wine for all it was worth. He was sure that he looked ridiculous. No one was looking, but this wasn't the sort of place that anyone had ever gone to alone.

He ought to go, anyway. Albus was taking up a table that could have better been used by a couple making plans for their elopement. Or by that bizarre looking man and that witch that looked like a child, her face twisted by too many _glamours._

Albus frowned at that. _That_ was going too far- even for the upper class.

_"Tempus_," Albus whispered covertly. He had been waiting here a half-hour. Albus scratched at his ankle awkwardly. He longed to take off his good loafers, put on his trainers, and sit down to watch the Quidditch highlights. Writing for a living meant that Albus had gotten used to being his own man, and making his own hours. He wasn't used to being held up anywhere, and he liked calling his time his own.

But this was worth it. Albus had been planning this night since he had been fifteen years old. The dream had grown every day at Hogwarts- sitting across from the boy he had loved in Potions; listening to him laugh with his friends every day in Herbology. There had been no rivalry, there had never been a row or even a misunderstanding that had distanced them. Instead, they had simply never gotten on. Albus didn't know if that hurt more than all the rest. If they had hated each other, at least it would that have meant that that lovely boy would have noticed him. But no. Albus had always been a dreamer, and a writer, and too remote to interest someone as earthy and passionate as _he_ always had been.

Albus could remember him- dirty face and knees, glowing after Quidditch. Or, broken bones, in the Hospital Wing, surrounding by Albus' own boy had been their best mate, while Albus had been the one they tested WWW products on. No one ever cared for Albus- not even when he tagged along and made a fuss. It hadn't stung at first, but when Albus had learned what love meant- well, it had burned worse than any caustic potion.

And of _course_ he was late. Albus tried to be angry, tried to hold onto some sense of self-righteous indignation, but he couldn't find the will. They had never been close, and if some old classmate had Floo'd out of the blue, Albus wouldn't have bothered showing up as well. Albus tried to reason that he would have at least had the decency to send a note, but in all actuality, he wasn't quite sure. Albus was a writer, and he liked to be on his own with a drink and a sheet of parchment. He also used that as an excuse to be abominably rude.

Albus lifted the wineglass to his mouth again. He was half-way through now. When it reached the dredges, no matter what, he was leaving. He wasn't going to be ridiculed by the staff, and that poor waitwitch looked as though she was dying to _accio_ him an entree, or at the very least another glass of wine. Albus toed off his left shoe, trying to look innocuous as he did it. Even though he said that he was leaving, he was making himself far too comfortable to make a quick Apparation. Obviously, he was going to stay longer and torture himself.

Stay and wait like an idiot.

Albus looked across the room. The _Blue Siren_ was lit with lovely orbs of charmed lights that floated up by the high ceiling, in appropriately chosen shades of navy and indigo. The lights were beautiful- glittering works of magical art, really, but they didn't do much in the way of illumination, and so Albus had to strain to see anyone at the tables around him. Albus should have taken this as a good sign- if he couldn't see much of them, then that meant that they couldn't see much of him, conversely. But at this point, Albus was wandering on the road toward drunkenness, and since he was pretty sure that he was going to be stood up, he at least wanted a scene for amusement.

The couples around Albus, though, were little more than pressed together shapes of shadows and caresses.

Albus tried to imagine them, and their stories- doing so was a stretch of his imagination, and Merlin knew it was the muscle he needed in shape the most for work. Albus sighed. He ought to join a dueling center, and get the rest of his muscles in shape. He was going to run to fat before he was thirty- he had his grandmother Weasley's genes. Maybe he ought to play pick-up Quidditch with Hugo on the weekends. But it was just like being twelve again and being picked last- and Albus was always made to be Chaser. He _hated_ being Chaser.

"Hey," a breezy voice broke into Albus' thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

Albus jolted to attention. _He _was here. Albus could feel his face flush. He had been on alert the entire time that he had been here, waiting, and yet the first moment that he started to daydream- Well, it didn't matter. He had come. Albus could feel his insides begin to squirm erratically- there was no nice way to put something as nerve wracking as what was happening. Had they ever been alone together, like this? No. Wait- yes, once before. Queuing for the loo, at _Illusion_, the nightclub off hadn't spoken much; the music had been too loud, and the situation awkward.

Would it be like that now, again?

Albus flushed once more, thinking about the pressure that he had put on the evening. For a writer, he realized that he had written an abyssal script.

But it was _Scorpius Malfoy._

Albus looked at him, as Scorpius slid into the dragonhide seat across from him. Scorpius looked almost exactly as he had when he had been eleven years old, and Albus had stared at him, fascinated, across a train platform. His hair was styled differently, and he was taller, but Scorpius was almost exactly the same.

Everything about Scorpius seemed to exude warmth and friendliness. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but that was most certainly part of his allure. Scorpius had dark grey eyes which were almost black, surrounded with white lashes which made his hair look potioned. He had curly white blond hair, but he kept it trimmed too short, which only made him look pale and slightly unwell. And then his mouth was too large for his face, and far too feminine- it was his mother's only gift to his Malfoyisan appearance. Apart each feature would have been rather plain, but combined they were lovely, even beautiful.

Albus had never been able to look away from the glint of his dark eyes, or the turn of his plush mouth.

"I'm late," Scorpius put a hand over his chest. "I'm so sorry, Al. Really, I am. I was going to send you a message here from work, but I got caught up in a million different parchment airplanes. I'll make it up."

"It's alright," Albus smiled. His face was trying to recreate _incendio_, apparently. And Scorpius Malfoy was going to _make it up_ to him. "You're here now. Is everything all right at work?"

"A million different things," Scorpius _did_ look distracted. Albus looked Scorpius over carefully, while trying to look as though he wasn't looking at him _that_ carefully. It was far too early for all that, surely. "Feeling pressure. You know how it is, especially with your writing. Deadlines. Speaking of, Jamie told me about the piece in _Portkeys and Potions_. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

_Because I didn't think we were friends enough,_ Albus thought as a waitwitch came to their table, thankfully giving Albus a chance to think up a response. Albus took a breath, swallowing the bezoar in his throat. Scorpius had changed for their meeting- from his red work robes into a cozy looking black jumper with a white t-shirt underneath. He had worn jeans, but they were that type of wash that slid into appropriately dressed up. Albus didn't know how to take that. Should he be hopeful because Scorpius changed out his uniform, or should he be pessimistic because Scorpius hadn't bothered to put on dress robes?

After Albus ordered his meal, he looked over at Scorpius. The waitwitch had gotten Scorpius a Firewhiskey, neat, in a heavy cut glass tumbler. Albus looked at his wine. Somehow he felt like a plebian and an impostor, even though Scorpius was the one in Muggle clothes.

"What's it about?" Scorpius asked, downing the glass in one smooth stroke. If Albus had tried that, he would have breathing out fire for weeks after. _Gryffindors._

"What?" Albus asked, bewildered. Scorpius' mouth was red and moistened from the drink. He unconsciously licked away a bead of liquor on his bottom lip and then smiled, his lips curving wide over crooked, white teeth. _I love you, _Albus thought absurdly, struck painfully in the chest. _I've fancied you since I was eleven years old. _

"Your story," Scorpius laughed, tossing his head back as if his hair was still shoulder length. "What is it about?"

Albus snapped back to earth. "A father who takes his three daughters on holiday after the death of their cousin."

Scorpius nodded slowly. The story was vaguely based on Albus' own life, as most writers did. But when his mum had died, there had been no holiday abroad for the Potter siblings. There had only been silence; a long, thorough silence that had taken up every room, and every corner of the cottage, until it beat out every word. Finally, Dad left them. Not on holiday. Instead, he had worked every case that came into the Ministry. He had solved every crime he could himself, and when he was tired, he took Pepper-Up and then took the trainees out on Stealth missions. That lasted for a long time- during all the years that Albus dreamed of Scorpius, and Jamie flew his way though Hogwarts, and that Lily had snogged every bloke with a pulse.

Finally Dad became Head Auror, and they had graduated. It was like Mum had guided them through Hogwarts, and then had faded- her memory becoming something warm and soft and gentle- not something pointed and painful and raw.

"You're very brave," Scorpius smiled softly. "For writing about all that. I don't know if I could do it."

"It's not my own life," Albus shrugged it all away, though inside he could feel himself warm with pride. Scorpius thought that he was _brave_. Scorpius admired him. "I've never been on holiday to half these places. I had to do a lot of research. Especially on Salem."

"Ah," Scorpius smiled. "I've been there."

Albus paused. The waitwitch had arrived with their meals, but Albus was still thinking about Scorpius' minor revelation. Albus had always paid attention to Scorpius, and to all of Scorpius' comings and goings, as desperate as that made him sound. It had been easy, though- Scorpius was Teddy's cousin, Scorpius was Lily's best mate. All through Hogwarts, Albus had never noticed the Malfoys take a holiday to America. They stayed in Scotland during Yule. They went to Greece during the summer. But never America.

So when?

"When did you go to the States?" Albus pressed the question, suddenly feeling an invisible ward go up between them. Had he asked a question that had brought up a bad memory? Or something that was off topic? Had his holiday been with an ex?"

"Last year," Scorpius smiled, but his expression was a bit too _glamoured_ on to be natural. "I went by myself for my birthday. I saw the Quodpot quarter-finals. Do you like Quodpot, Al?"

"No," Albus shook his head. He could barely understand why the sport existed, let alone the rules. "Too brutal."

"Too _brutal_," Scorpius scoffed loudly, and one of the shadowy figures in another booth definitely turned to peek at them in annoyance. Albus smirked internally- they were disturbing their night, now. That was what it would be like, dating a Gyffindor. The spotlight would shift and Albus would receive some of it's glow, if only by association. He'd be apart of it all, for once.

"Too brutal," Scorpius continued, with a small sigh. Albus thought it sounded fond- he was almost certain it did. "In Quidditch you can get killed by a Muggle aircraft chopping you to bits if you're not careful."

"What's the likelihood of that?" Albus finally cut into his entree, forgetting to be nervous for the slightest moment. _Everything was going really well, _Albus couldn't help but cheer himself on, as though he was a spectator in his own life. Author's habit. _It was a bit of a choppy start, but a fine recovery, that, Potter._

"I don't know," Scorpius shrugged good naturedly. Scorpius had always been like that at school. He had been friendly, kind, but remote- he hadn't been the type to break up a row, but he hadn't been the type to bully anyone, either. Albus supposed that Scorpius had made Gryffindor on his amazing Defense skills, amongst those other traits. No one could beat Scorpius in DADA when he had his mind set on a goal. Albus only ever took DADA with the Gryffindors in sixth year, but he couldn't help thinking back to his fantasy from those days; of being tied up by Scorpius Malfoy's _incarerous_, and being left defenseless in some field . . .

Well, it made a good hour alone, at least.

"Maybe you could research it," Scorpius grinned. He had a good mouth. Was that an idiotic thing to notice? Maybe Albus was giddy from too much wine- Jamie always said he was looser than a cauldron with a crack. "It would make a good exposé for somewhere. I dunno."

"Yeah," Albus smiled back. He needed to stick to water now. He was going to do something stupid, and he was not a Gryffindor, and _not_ bold. Asking Scorpius to dinner had been his great leap of faith for the month.

"So," Scorpius drawled. "Lily's birthday."

"Yes," Albus smiled back thinly, wondering if Scorpius noticed the faint change in his demeanor.

This had been his excuse for Flooing Scorpius, after all, so he really had no reason to be upset. What other reason could he have logically used to Floo up an old classmate that he had no contact with, except through his family? Anything else would have been odd in the extreme. Albus tried not to be resentful of the reminder that he had never been a part of his brother and sister's social lives. Usually he was rather relieved that they no longer asked him to play twentieth wheel in their flying car trips. Right now, though, all Albus could see was how much he really did miss out by being the resident reclusive writer.

"She's going to expect _something_," Scorpius continued on, obliviously, drumming his fingers on the broad violet tablecloth in time to an invisible beat. Albus couldn't help but grin at his nervous tic. "Lily loves being the center of attention. Do you want to hire somebody?"

"_Who_?" Albus was sure that his voice was far too loud now. The shadowy shapes were murmuring now.

Scorpius tossed back his head and snorted once. Albus really wished that he would grow out his hair at least a little. He had such lovely blond curls- all the witches at Hogwarts had wanted to run their fingers through it, or had imagined what their children would have looked like with Scorpius' angelic ringlets. Albus sniffed thinking about it. Cows.

But Scorpius _did_ have lovely hair. And this cut aged him terribly.

"Not like that!" Scorpius protested. "Not a- not a_-_ you _know_. But maybe a singer. Or someone to put on a performance. Not put on a _performance._"

Albus laughed back, his face doing that woeful impression of _incendio_ again. The evening was going well. The conversation had the usual awkward stops and starts that would occur during a meal between two people that hardly knew each other, but it wasn't anything that would make Albus lose hope.

"So-" Albus began, mustering up the courage to solidify plans to meet again to continue planning for Lily's party. _One step at a time._

"_Ooh_," Scorpius reached into his pocked and retrieved a red-hot and vibrating silver disk. Albus couldn't read the inscription on it- no one could but Scorpius himself, but Albus knew the person who had created the spells that charmed those coins. Everyone in his family did.

"I'm sorry," Scorpius frowned, and he _did_ look apologetic. "Work. I've got to go."

"Yes," Albus forced a smile. "Never mind this, I'll settle the bill."

"We should meet up again," Scorpius smiled vaguely, pocketing the coin Aurors used to summon each other. "You have my Floo."

Albus nodded, his teeth gritted.

Scorpius had said it in the way wizards did when they had no intention of speaking to that other person again.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey everyone- there is a lot of misdirection in this story. What you think is happening might not be, and what you think is happening, may be. I kind of don't want to say more, because it will give the ending away. It is a mystery, especially for Albus. This story is a novella, so it looks like it might run about ten chapters, if not less. I hope you guys will keep reviewing and let me know what you think._

_And yes, it will be Albus/Scorpius._

* * *

Part Two:

Scorpius rolled his shoulder experimentally and winced as he walked. The chairs in that restaurant weren't exactly comfortable, even though they were padded with charms. Where _did _anyone find dragonhide chairs that were shaped like flower petals, anyway? Scorpius was only glad that if there was such as shop that his mother hadn't found it yet. The Manor was spelled to bursting with decades of antiquities (or rubbish) from all of his ancestors' collections and travels. One more hideous blue and purple chair _could_ actually be the item that caused the wards to burst.

Scorpius smiled to himself, imagining the house exploding and all of their priceless artifacts on the front garden, like a cottage before the movers came to _levitate_ it away. His parents would never live the shame down, if something like that was to happen to them. Scorpius would have to invest in a good Muggle camera, just in case. One never knew.

At this hour of the evening, the Ministry was closed to all but the most essential employees. Gone were the day tours from New Orleans and from Egypt, and the office clerks and staff had long packed it in, and gone home to their children, or at least their wand-ready meals. Scorpius didn't blame them. Nights like this he really didn't much relish coming in to the Ministry himself, especially on a full stomach of overly rich food that he hadn't much enjoyed. All Scorpius wanted was to take a good fly over London and then to bed before the day began again. Unfortunately for him, work was summoning.

But then again the siren song of the Auror department was inescapable. For as long as Scorpius could remember, he had wanted to be an Auror. When Scorpius had been little, he had forced his mum to Owl away for books and magazines on Aurors, even when he knew that his father would be annoyed to see them about the house. Scorpius would pour over them, fascinated, and determined. All he had ever wanted, since he knew he could perform magic, was to be the best Auror alive. Scorpius was fascinated by books on Merlin and his sagas; he had wanted to out-duel Severus Snape; he had wanted to fly faster than all the Arrows players combined.

Thinking back on it, Scorpius wondered if it was a sign he was different, even then. Scorpius had always wanted to be more wizard than wizard, even before he could cast a jinx. When he broke bones, he wouldn't cry- in fact, once, he begged the Healers not to Potion him, just so he could see what it would be like to heal Muggle-style.

As Scorpius' Aunt Daphne always said about her energetic nephew, Scorpius was constantly on a mission, even if he hadn't been granted one_._

But right now, Scorpius' shoes echoed on the dark marble floor, in cool isolation. Scorpius smiled at that. Whenever he was alone in the Ministry on a night Floo, Scorpius always had the urge to throw out a spell, or a jinx, or even a hex down the long warded path that led to the bullpen. Scorpius' hand itched for his wand, imagining the illumination that he could produce, lighting the hallway in brilliant, sparkling beams of momentary light. But then again, anyone could be here, including his supervisors. Scorpius had the terrifically bad habit of getting caught breaking rules. Just last week when Jamie, Teddy and Scorpius had raced office supplies . . .

Scorpius was in front of the Head Aurors office. His mind shifted from a prank to break up the monotony, to the task ahead.

Self consciously, Scorpius smoothed his hands over his jumper. Any time Scorpius went to the Head Auror's office, even if it was for a slight error in his parchment filing, Scorpius felt tense. Going to see _the_ head of _the_ greatest magical law enforcement department in the world never became comfortable. Scorpius never got over his awe of the situation, perhaps, in part, because he was doing everything he could to be the next wizard to occupy that seat.

Scorpius knocked on the door, and without waiting for a reply, he walked into the room. Even though the door to the office was small, the office itself was in fact quite spacious, due to the layering of various charms and spells. The room was paneled with oak, giving it a very masculine feel- in a vague way it reminded Scorpius of a room in the Manor which had manticore heads permanently stuck to the wall. Grandmother called _the smoking room._ Scorpius had never asked what had been smoked there.

There was no manticore heads in the Head Auror's office, thankfully. Instead, the Head Auror had used Muggle nails to put up dozens of charmed photographs of his family and friends. Sometimes, while Scorpius was getting scolded, he liked to tune out of the conversation, and glance at them. They were fascinating- especially seeing Lily at nine with her hair cut like a kneazle had coughed up a rag doll onto her head. Scorpius had used that one against her for weeks. But the rest were brilliant- like seeing Harry Potter with the Weird Sisters. Or Harry Potter with _Moira Tate_- the best female Beater alive.

However, Scorpius was _not_ amused by the lone photo of the spotty version of himself, arm-in-arm with Teddy and Jamie. He looked as though he had rubbed all the grease of an emptied chip basket on himself. That had been a bad year. Or three.

"Malfoy," the Head Auror interrupted his thoughts. "I charmed that coin twenty minutes ago."

"I'm sorry, sir," Scorpius lifted his aching shoulder. Scorpius wasn't on the Floo line this evening, but he had several open cases, and he knew that the department was short staffed as it was. Scorpius shouldn't have gone out- the food was a bothersome weight in his stomach, reminding him that he had both a Dueling and Stealth module in the morning. Scorpius also needed to clear some of his parchment before the New Year, and Yule was rapidly approaching. Red spellotape on his file would only keep him from any promotion, and it would all add up, eventually.

Scorpius wondered if the Head Auror had ever felt as though he was being _incarcerated_ into his career, as much as he was dedicated to it. Scorpius looked at him- powerful, remote, even his glasses a shield from a counterattack. Everything about him was a ward; his broad figure overpowering his black leather chair. Even the steely streak of grey in his messy hair only existed to remind the world of his might.

"It's fine," the Head Auror said it in a way that was meant to both soothe any ruffled feathers, and to remind Scorpius that by being late, he had nearly disobeyed a direct order. "I sent out Booth and Grey. How is the Copper Cauldron Company case?"

"We've traced the majority of the gold to an off-Apparition estate in Barmouth," Scorpius couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride. It had taken him four days to trace down the gold that the Cauldron Company was embezzling. He had managed it all alone, through a maze of intimidation, Floo calls, and trips to terrified family members. Scorpius was sure with just a little more time, he would trace the illegal brews and wares that the company was selling.

"Good," the Head Auror _did_ look pleased then, and for the faintest moment, Scorpius could see a hint of pride in his bright green-gold eyes. _You have to admit I'm good_, Scorpius thought wickedly, _I'm the best Auror you have, Harry Potter. _

"I'm passing the CCC case to Jamie," the Head Auror stated evenly, and Scorpius felt his stomach drop. That was _his_ case. It _couldn't_ be passed to Jamie, not when Scorpius had put in days and nights of work; chasing down distant relatives of the boardwizards, and bitter ex-employees to piece together this nearly-seamless case. No. Not when Scorpius needed one good opportunity to get a promotion in the New Year. _No._

"Please don't," Scorpius mumbled, knowing that once the Head Auror had made up his mind, he would not change it without a logical reason. Scorpius shuffled through the evidence he had gathered in his mind, but he couldn't come up with a single piece of information that he had withheld while putting together the file, or a single hunch that Scorpius could use as leverage to keep the case from being transferred to James Potter. Scorpius had given his all to that project, and now he had nothing. The injustice stung.

"I know that I can bring this case to the Wizengamot, sir," Scorpius murmured softly, staring at the whorls in the wooden armrest. He had already lost the war, but Scorpius had to say that- to stake a claim to the battle. "I _know_ I would win."

"I don't doubt you," the Head Auror said gently. "You _know_ that I don't doubt you. You're talented, so talented, Snitch. Don't take this as a personal attack."

Scorpius looked up sharply at the use of his nickname. "Then why-"

"You have four open cases," the Head Auror rose from his desk and rounded across the room. Scorpius watched him move, amazed as always by the Transfiguration that Harry Potter was able to manage in plain sight. Everyone knew what Harry Potter looked like- he had been made into lampoons and he had been the subject of adoration- but no one knew what he truly looked like until he _moved._ Scorpius watched him, fascinated by the slight pacing and the slow revelation the each step brought to light.

Everyone described the Head Auror in the same manner- lovely piercing green eyes, dark messy hair, athletic broad build, scar. But his real beauty was in the clench of his jaw when he dueled; it was in the way the Head Auror popped his knuckles when he was truly annoyed; and in the gold-green flash in his eyes when he found something amusing_. That_ was what made Harry Potter the ideal wizard, in every sense of the word.

The Head Auror paused in front of Scorpius' chair. "_Four_ cases. You are supposed to have them cleared by the New Year, Malfoy. I'm lightening your workload."

"I have three other cases you could transfer," Scorpius mumbled, staring at the chair and the gentle curls of the wood. As soon as he said it, Scorpius winced- he had just told Harry Potter how to do his job. _Brilliant._ One of these days he was going to end up back with the first year Aurors, monitoring their rounds on Diagon.

"_Malfoy,_" the clench in the Head Auror's jaw had appeared with a vengeance. "I transferred this case for a reason. I did not transfer the others because they were not priority, as you well know. None of this was to penalize you, _or_ to advance my son. Jamie and Warrington simply do not have as much parchment to slog through at the moment, and I need you on the field. How is your shoulder?"

"I'm fine," Scorpius lied horribly. It ached, constantly, bordering on pain. "It's fine."

Auror Potter leaned forward and frowned. "I want you to see a medic in the morning. Have you been taking your potions for it?"

"No," Scorpius frowned. He couldn't stand them. They made him groggy and fatigued, even if he had had a full night's rest. Scorpius had taken a week's worth, and then hadn't bothered to ever refill the potion at the Apothecary.

"_Snitch_," Harry whispered. "For Merlin's sake, don't be stupid."

Scorpius edged forward slightly. His heart pounding in his too-hot jumper, Scorpius slid down in his chair, and spread his legs slowly, carefully, until the meaning was made lewdly clear. Behind the Head Auror's eyes, there was a small flicker of recognition. Scorpius watched carefully, his legs quivering in the hard chair, waiting for the instant that Harry Potter glanced down to the warm space between his thighs. It took a long, desperate moment, but finally Auror Potter's eyes fluttered slightly.

"You need to take care of yourself," the Head Auror frowned slightly, a cease forming between his brows. "If you get hurt on a mission, think of the people who care about you. So you'll see a medic tomorrow."

Scorpius ducked his head in compliance. "Are you leaving, sir?"

"Yes," the Head Auror lifted a load of scrolls. "I'll walk you out to the Atrium. Are you taking the Floo, Malfoy? Or did you have your broom with you?"

"I'll Floo," Scorpius said, walking towards the door, side by side with Harry Potter.

* * *

"On a scale of one to ten," Jamie began, taking off his glasses to clean them on the sleeve of his robes, "With one being pleased and ten being murderously enraged-how annoyed were you that my father took you off the case?"

"Hmm," Scorpius stared into his mug of tea. A day had passed, and now, thinking about it all, he felt really sort of embarrassed; Scorpius had gone beyond the spell in the way he had laid claim to that one case- as though it was a homicide, or a missing persons. But, to take the other point of view, Scorpius had put in all that work, and to hand it over to Jamie wasn't fair. That case had potential. It had the potential to be solved neatly, and it had the potential to change an Auror's career. Scorpius couldn't help but feel regret, annoyance, and frustration- along with a host of other emotions too varied to name. Maybe he had put too much of himself into that one case, and it had been to the detriment of the others he had slightly ignored. But he had done it with the best of intentions.

"Sorry I asked," Jamie sighed. "It wasn't fair for my father to do that to you, Snitch. I mean, Aurors get injured all the time-"

Scorpius smiled grimly. He was back on the potions- only because the medic who had tended to his shoulder this time had flagged his parchment for review. So Scorpius had dutifully gone back to tipping the poison in order to escape desk duty. Usually Scorpius would have tried one more plea with the Head Auror, just for the Gobstones, but after what had happened to his case, Scorpius didn't dare risk it. Even though it was egotistical of him to think it, Scorpius sometimes felt as though Fate was holding him back from ever being a successful Auror.

Scorpius took a large sip of his tea on that note, wincing as he burned the roof of his throat.

"If it goes anywhere," Jamie shrugged. "We'll put your name on it, we'll get that sorted. Warrington's agreed."

"You mean you held Warrington's wand to the flame until he gave in," Scorpius smiled. Jamie was the type of person that once they made up their minds about something, or _to_ do a task, they put their all into it. And Jamie's loyalty was like that as well- Scorpius chalked it up to the Weasley characteristic of playing _member in a trio_ exceedingly well. The only real rows that Scorpius and Jamie had ever had were either before they had been friends, or when Scorpius did things without telling Jamie. _That_ was the Potter contribution to his makeup. Jealousy. Lily and Jamie had joint custody, and they did not have visitation laid out for other friends.

"I might have done worse," James shrugged, his dark eyes glittering behind his glasses, and Scorpius tensed. At times in school, Jamie's sense of humor had bordered on the sadistic. With James' guidance, the pair of them had broken up couples, gotten Ravenclaws suspended, and Transfigured school property into items only found in certain shops on Knockturn. Back then Scorpius had thought everything was hilarious, even the truly vile, but now, he wished he hadn't done. Even the next day after their rampages, Scorpius was always _too_ nice for Jamie's taste.

"James," Scorpius frowned. "I thought you were thinking of reforming."

"We broke up," That was girlfriend number three hundred and sixty-two for the year, then. "She snored."

"How did you never notice?" Scorpius asked.

"She never stayed the night," Jamie shrugged and Scorpius snorted.

"_That's_ not why we broke up!" Jamie huffed. "It was just boring, I guess. You shouldn't be with someone if you're bored. So then I broke it off. She didn't even mind, so I suppose it's all for the best. What about you, Snitch?"

"I had dinner with your brother," Scorpius had waited until James had taken a sip of his pumpkin juice, just to see the reaction. Jamie managed to retain his dignity and not splutter, but only _just._ He did make a face that looked as though he had been jinxed by a faulty wand, however.

"If you're having dinner with Albus," James sighed, "It means that you're no longer scraping the barrel. You've gone through it, Snitch. You've hit the ground and you're hexing yourself holes. In fact- you're on the level of Inferi."

Scorpius made a face. "You know that you're comparing your _own_ brother to the animated dead?"

Jamie made another face back, this one worse than the one he had made before, as if he had to compensate for being stuck momentarily dumb by making the most animated faces possible.

"Why are you defending my brother?" James accused, and Scorpius rolled his eyes. Apparently Albus _Potter_ hadn't made Jamie Potter's list of approved friends for Snitch Malfoy, best mate to former Hogwarts Quidditch Captains. "Are you two _really_ shagging, then? He's not a Gryffindor, you know."

"Thanks, that tragic _Obliviate _wore off, " Scorpius answered sarcastically. "I know who I am, again, Potter. Now we can go back to hating each other like when I was an ickle first year, and you can stop pretending to be my friend."

"Hilarious," James frowned, taking a sip of his drink cautiously, as though he no longer trusted his friend. "But _are_ you shagging Al_?_"

"No," Scorpius murmured. He didn't know why he felt the need to defend Albus. Except Albus had always been on the sidelines during their childhood, and somewhat alone. Jamie had always had this virulent urge to prank Al, as if it were a scratch he couldn't help but itch, but Scorpius always tried to stop or prevent him as much he could. Albus seemed _gentler_ in his own, odd way. Maybe it had something to do with missing his mother; something that didn't seem to be apart of Lily and Jamie's immediate life anymore. But maybe it was. All the same, Scorpius just felt sorry for Albus. He knew what it was like to be misunderstood and then isolated.

"He wants to throw a party," Scorpius shrugged. "For Lily, for her birthday."

"Lily isn't going to like anything Al does," James said carelessly and Scorpius winced internally. _Harsh_. Harsh, but accurate.

"That is why _we_ are going to help him," Scorpius smiled serenely.

"We?" Jamie frowned.

"We," Scorpius glared back.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This chapter is for Mary (Guest) it is lovely reviewers like you who take time out to write down sweet thoughts like that who keep lowly little scribes like us going. Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything you said, it was too sweet+perfect. To answer your q- AoL is not done. It has about 4 chapters left, depending on how I manage to break down the final hurdles. Anyway, this is a New Year's chapter while I watch my Twilight's Zone. Hope everyone is alright and feeling optimistic for the 13th year. _

_Can you figure out what's going on here between AS+SM and SM+ Harry? I know it's early days but y'all are such great detectives that I want to send you on the case and see who can get it first. _

* * *

Part Three:

Albus flipped the menu from one side to the other with dissatisfaction as he searched for something edible to eat in the endless arrays of lattes and teas. Albus should have learned how to cook years ago, but he hadn't, and he really didn't have any excuse as to why he hadn't, as his flat had a perfectly serviceable kitchen. Albus supposed he had always used the excuse that he was too busy writing, or too busy Apparating toward deadlines in his career to take a class. When they were younger, Albus should have learned, but he had been too much of an idiot, and he had thought that their lives would never change.

And after Mum had-had died, Albus thought, putting the menu down, far too harshly, they had already been in school. On holidays they had eaten takeaways when Dad had worked, and on the rare occasions he had to cook- well, Dad knew how to manage a fry up, or pasta. _Anyone_ could manage that much.

Albus wondered how Lily and James managed. Lily, Albus supposed, most likely had a chef, or someone to fetch her food from the best restaurants. James was another matter. _He_ couldn't cook- Albus knew that much, Jamie couldn't distill a potion, there was no way that he could manage a roast dinner. But perhaps in the Portkey list of girlfriends that James had, one or two of them had managed to sit him down and train him on a meal or two.

It was more than Albus could say for himself. And for some reason he felt envious. Albus had always been the reasonable sibling, the sibling with the proper career- the career that wasn't grasping headlines, in any case. The thought that his sister or his brother could be more adept at basic life skills filled him with an odd sort of envy. At Hogwarts Albus had thought had James and Lily had needed to rely on Scorpius Malfoy for anything attempting logic.

_Scorpius_-

Albus bit his lip. He supposed he'd have the cinnamon pomegranate bilderberry tea. Everything else looked as though it was so sweet you'd need a Healer's appointment for your teeth before trying it, or the name was so Italian that Albus would need one of the Zabini siblings before he ordered.

"Hello trouble," a voice sing-songed.

Albus tensed. He did not appreciate being called by nick-names, or being shouted at- especially in an open area like this bistro on the high street. But telling Dominique to stop would never make her reconsider her stance on drawing attention to herself. Instead, it would only make her more likely to continue doing whatever was annoying Albus.

"Your hair," Albus frowned as Dominique snatched the menu from his hands with a quick _accio_. Albus had long ago learned to suffer in silence as his older cousins treated him like the little Squib relation. It was best to simply shut up and put up with being told to _accio_ things for Teddy, being told to leave one's own bedroom, and being the one that everyone practiced experimental potions on. Everyone knew that the more you complained, the more the older ones tortured you.

Well, Albus _had_ been tortured, until Hugo and Lily had been born. Thank the gods for them.

"It's a wig," Dominque said proudly, tossing her head from side to side, so that the sunlight bounced off the synthetic lavender strands. As she swung her head, a bloke trying to land his motorbike nearly crashed into a display of charmed stuffed crups in the toy shop across the alley. _Honestly._

"I'm shocked," Albus drawled. "It looks so natural."

"Tosser," Dominique laughed, slapping her stolen menu against the table. That was why Albus got on with her so well- while the rest of the family fell rapidly into Gryffindorian success, Dominique was happy with her wigs. And her robes. And her blokes. "You know they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"_They _probably went to Drumstrang," Albus grumbled. It was taking _far _too long for him to get his tea. Why had Dominique suggested this restaurant? Most likely because they could see everyone on the alley, and she wanted them to see her in her purple glory. _Gods._

"Fair enough," Dominque agreed, in her perennial good mood. "What are you drinking?"

"Well I _was_ going to drink the bilderberry tea," Albus huffed, as happy to let out that complaint as children were to rip off plasters after being ill. "If we'll be served before I make it through the Veil, that is."

"Oh hush," Dominique said, rapping her knuckles against the wooden table to counteract Albus' grim words. "Why are you drinking this early in the day, anyway? I thought that you had brewed up that plan to shag Snitch Malfoy?"

"Don't call him _Snitch_," Albus chided, frustrated.

He had never liked that nickname for Scorpius, which had been started up by Jamie and the older Gryffindors. It had nothing to do with his name, and Scorpius had played Chaser for part of his school career, anyway. Actually, Albus had no precise idea where it had come from and perhaps that was why. Jealousy- the famous, and infamous Potter jealousy. Did Scorpius' parents call him Snitch? It was impossible for Albus to imagine Draco Malfoy calling his son _Snitch_ across the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor. But perhaps he had. Perhaps it had given him some perverse pleasure to know that his son had been the Gryffindor Seeker, beating out Harry Potter's own children. And then beating all the other children in the school during his Quidditch career.

"Let me guess," Dominique said, _too_ tenderly for Albus to handle. If only she could be matter of fact. If only she didn't care. "It was a no-go."

"Not that," Albus had been finally been served his slightly intoxicating tea, made from magical berries which had been distilled and fermented. Albus took a tentative sip. He had never had this particular brew before, but the introduction of other flavors had concealed the bitter taste of the distilled fruit.

"What then?" Dominique was eating a pastry. She broke a piece in half and offered it to Albus, but he shook his head. "I won't believe you if you say that Scorpius Malfoy is straight . . ."

"No, no," Albus scrunched his face slightly. "He had to leave early. I didn't even get the chance to ask him properly. I only had the chance to propose the idea of Lily's party. Which was a rubbish idea anyway- Lily and I don't get on, and Scorpius will talk to her and she'll tell him that it's a horrible idea, which it is."

Dominique broke the last bit of her pastry into crumbles, sprinkling them around her little white ceramic plate like bits of beige confetti. Albus frowned at that- he wanted to say something, but he was quite sure that anything he said would be classed as another example of _Albus being a giant mother dragon._

"I still don't think it's a bad idea," Dominique said encouragingly. "You never come out to play with us, Al. And this is the perfect opportunity. Lily is turning twenty- it's a birthday that means absolutely nothing in the wizarding world-"

"So if I jinx it up, it won't unleash a floodgate of hexes," Albus said ruefully, relaxing into his seat. This tea actually wasn't that bad, all things considered. It was pretty good, once you got passed the taste and into the realm of intoxication.

"You won't mess anything up," Dominique didn't look entirely convinced, but she had always been too kind, especially for a witch born that unnaturally beautiful. "You'll have me to help. And Scorpius _will_ help you too. He isn't the type to go and tell a secret like that, Al. You can trust him. He's a Gryf-"

"Watch yourself," Albus frowned.

"Sorry," Dominique laughed. "Forgot my company. Anyway, Teddy can help you too. And Jamie. Everyone will be in on it! I'm sure that Scorpius is just busy with work. It's the end of the year, you know."

"So?" Albus didn't particularly understand what that might mean.

"I don't know. I was only thinking aloud," Dominque was trying to adjust her wig without drawing attention to the fact that the charms were fading. Albus bit down a smile. He had the urge to make a snide comment, but Dominique was faster on her draw than any of the family's duelists, save Jamie. It still made Albus smile to think of the times she had jinxed Teddy.

"Well," Albus shrugged, "If he had anything to say to me, Scorpius said he knew how to find me."

Dominque sighed, finally reassured that her follicular nightmare had been adverted. Then she beamed at Albus again. But that smile ricocheted across the dining space, as one waiter stopped to stare at her, dumbly; his wand holding aloft a steaming platter filled with a thick purple soup. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice the fact that two children had come from within the restaurant, rushing to the warmth of the warded outside, far beyond the grasp of their mother's wand.

"Oh no," Albus said softly, watching as the children wrapped around the waiter's robes, laughing as their mother failed to catch up with them in time.

In time, that was, to stop the bald patron that the wizard was serving from being bathed in steaming grey soup. Dominique's smile faded at the precise moment that the middle-aged wizard rose, his skin on his head scalded red and dyed grey in a cap which went bizarrely well with his furried robes.

"I guess that wigs don't help much with the gift," Dominique sighed.

"No," Albus snorted. "Back to the parchment for another idea."

* * *

After his tea and show with Dominique, Albus decided to walk part of the way back to his flat, instead of just Apparating from the nearest point allowed. As they said their goodbyes, Dominique repeated all the reassuring things she has said at the lunch, but it was as if Albus could no longer hear her words. Dominique was kind, and lovely, and one of Albus' best mates and closest family members, but Albus was sure that was the reason that she was stating all of the frankly outlandish excuses she was inventing, and not because she believed in them with any conviction.

And there was something about being reassured by his older cousin- a very extraordinarily beautiful witch- that made Albus feel embarrassed. Perhaps it was because it reminded him in some faint way of his mother, another beautiful witch who had always taken the time to see his point of view. If Jamie and Lily had been more their dad's kids, bounding though life, then Albus had been more his mother's son, if only because he had been left behind.

In any case, Dominique had gone home, and Albus had gone back to his flat. Even though Albus had tried to come up with logical rebuttals for every one of Dominique's excuses in his mind, by the time he reached his flat, Albus still checked the common Owlery for a bit of post from the Ministry or from Wiltshire. But of course, there was none.

Albus sighed. What had he expected? Scorpius Malfoy had a career, and he had friends, and he very likely had an idea of what he wanted to do for Lily's birthday that didn't involve Albus Potter. Albus didn't fit into their little circle and for years that hadn't bothered him. Albus was beyond being annoyed by the fact that his unrequited infatuation hadn't worked out. He was a writer. Being miserable was probably better for work, anyway.

Albus toed off his shoes and walked through his flat to the kitchen. What post he did have was impersonal catalogues from cauldron makers and broom builders. What would Albus do with a custom broom, anyway? Ever since he had been born, people had been confusing him with Harry Potter. It wasn't enough that there was Teddy, and there was James to continue on the Auroring business for another generation. Albus had to do it too, or _they_ wouldn't be satisfied . . .

Albus bent down and retrieved a bottle of cognac from underneath the sink. It had been a gift from his agent, Noel Burnbridge ,when they had secured the deal with the travel magazine. Albus lifted the bottle, expecting a heavy weight- but it was empty. Already. Albus frowned at that. It had seemed so full, but nearly a fortnight had passed since the deal had been secured, so he supposed it made sense.

Instead, Albus opened a fresh bottle of wine, _acco'ing_ a plastic cup. His flat was in a state- his flat was always in a state when he was writing, and now was no different. Piled high on the dining room table were stacks of parchment- his story, written and rewritten. Pasted on the walls with spellotape were drafts, slips with reference notes, even photographs to help along the process. Right now, Albus was entirely focused on making his features a success, or he should have been.

Scorpius Malfoy should have not been a priority.

But he was. Albus slumped onto his sofa, tossing a shrunken sac of freshly laundered clothes onto the floor. All Albus could think about was Scorpius Malfoy, and it was driving him mad. It was as if Albus was creating a novel out of his own existence and he couldn't move forward until this one arc was seen until completion- but that was mad, wasn't it? Mad and wonderful in a sense. Lately, every time Albus closed his eyes, he could see Scorpius as he was, a golden curly head in the library at Hogwarts, pouring over Defense texts.

If only Albus had had the courage to say something then . . .

If only he had the courage to try a bit harder now . . .

Albus topped up his plastic mug of wine. It was a hideous cup, red, decorated with white hearts that Molly's daughter Hannah had given to him- once filled with chocolates that she had baked 'herself'. Albus was relatively sure that 'herself' meant that Molly had done most of the work. Albus reached for his wand, turning on the wireless. On his empty stomach the wine was working quickly and it had taken two tries for Albus to switch on the charmed device.

_Regarding the increased rate of wanded robbery on Knockturn Alley this upcoming holiday season, the Head Auror, our Man-Who-Lived, had the following to say . . . _

Albus quickly changed the station before his father, or a statement from his father was read aloud. It wasn't that Albus was avoiding his dad, no- he had no reason to do that. Albus saluted the wireless with his plastic child's mug- it was the fact that as a child, he remembered listening to the wireless, desperate to hear his father's voice on the other end. His father who would disappear for days at a time, chasing suspects, while Albus and his siblings were shut in the cottage; a home still lingering with the scent of their mum's cooking, her shoes still out in the hall in a neat, preserved row.

Albus was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not notice his Floo warp his wards for the first time. Or the second. It wasn't until the third time that Albus leapt up, the plastic cup tossed off his lap, spilling red wine onto his white rug.

"Great," Albus muttered to himself. If there was a spell or a cleaning potion to remove red wine from a white carpet, Albus didn't know it. And if he asked his aunt Hermione or even Rose, he'd have to sit through a lecture for the end result. "Brilliant, really."

Two spills in one day. Clearly this was his father on the Floo, to make it an unlucky three for Albus today . . .

It wasn't.

It was Scorpius Malfoy, his expression unreadable, yet pleasant in the crackling flames. "Al!" He smiled, and then Albus felt how much he'd _really_ drunk. That or he was horribly, ridiculously nervous. _Ohgodsohgodsohgods. _"I bet you're shocked."

"No, not at all," Albus tried a smile, but his face felt alternatively too lax and too tense. "I mean, a little. I thought you were my dad."

"Imagine!" Scorpius laughed. "That would have given my father quite a shock twenty-two years ago when my mum gave birth."

Albus winced. Nice job. "Ugh. I didn't mean _that_."

"I know," Scorpius grinned. "Goose. Anyway I wanted to know what you were doing next Saturday. I said I'd make it up to you, since we didn't get to really talk about your plans for Lily's birthday. You could come by my house. Unless you don't want to, in which case, I could come by your flat . . ."

Albus thought of the wine stain, the parchment scrolls, the spellotape masses of inspiration. Going to Scorpius' house would leave him at a massive disadvantage, but it was better than inviting the object of his desire here. And Scorpius had called him _goose._

"I'll come by," Albus smiled.

They didn't speak much longer than that, but when Albus stepped away from the Floo he realized that his robes had a massive stain on them.

Brilliant.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I've gotten a lot of questions about this story. I don't want to give too much away, because the beauty is in the not knowing, but I will say that the only couple is AS/S. I don't think this story is romantic, in the traditional sense of the word, which is why I did not label it as such. It's not a dark story, and it's not negative, it's a story about misreading signs, and misunderstanding people's motives. Albus definetly does not pine, he's very active- he's an adult- not like my last story. But I wouldn't say that his actions are the right choices- he makes his own bed, and he's very Slytherin. He's the new age Draco Malfoy in this fic. He sees himself as a perma-victim, but he never notices the fact that his choices are the reason for his unhappiness Let's just say there's a reason why his brother/sister do not like him. However, Scorpius is not innocent, either. He is trying to be everything his family is not, trying to fit in with his mates, while hiding a huge secret._

* * *

Part Four:

Scorpius edged his bag off his shoulder, wincing even though he experienced no pain. Edging the door closed with his wand in his mouth instead of using his hands -a safety hazard which he risked since there was no one here to see- Scorpius let out the low sigh of exhaustion, one which he had been holding in all morning long.

He was finally alone. Scorpius had never been the sort of person who enjoyed being alone, but he was injured; and as a person who ate, breathed, dreamed and _lived_ defense, all he could think about was how utterly useless he felt now. The potion was working- knitting together his muscle and numbing the throbs, but Scorpius would have rather had the pain of the injury any day of the year. Like this he was fighting blind, and he had always detested wearing _glamours_, except on the most necessary cases.

_Let them see who he was_, Scorpius had always reasoned. He had always rather a Dark wizard see that the Red Cloak taking him in was the Malfoy brat. Made things that much sweeter.

Scorpius rolled his shoulder back, and this time he _did_ sense a twinge of pain. Pain meant he was _feeling_ something, and that was better than being constantly dulled in order to face the world. Scorpius rolled his shoulder back again, testing it's range. He wouldn't be able to do much dueling until after the holidays, but he'd push for field work sooner rather than later. Until then, Scorpius reckoned that he'd just have to get used to carrying his bag on the wrong shoulder, as awkward as that felt. Or he could shrink it- but whenever he did that, he always left something at home.

"Like your sanity," Scorpius muttered to himself, and then he laughed. He was being so miserable that reminded himself of his father. All Scorpius needed was an abacus and a receding hairline to go along with his paperwork . . .

_Now that was cruel_, Scorpius chided himself, settling down behind his desk, and retrieving a fresh quill, ink, and his blotter from the side drawer.

At times he had the _worst_ sense of humor- positively Slytherin. In those moments, he was just such a miserable creature that Scorpius really wondered how he had ever Sorted Gryffindor. Then there at other times he had been told that he should have been a Hufflepuff. Perhaps the Sorting it had been a catch-all sort of thing. Perhaps time changed your Sorting, anyway. His grandmother was one of the bravest witches he knew. And Uncle Blaise was more analytical than cunning, really . . .

Scorpius was procrastinating. He was not upset about the case anymore, that would have been just pathetic, and honestly, he had had enough time to work on being happy for Jamie throughout the years, that now it came naturally whenever they were put in competition. He was more frustrated with the cases he had here, the three _Unsolvables,_ as Scorpius was referring to them in his mind. On one, a domestic, Scorpius had made a bit of headway; but the others were so far beyond him that even a Portkey couldn't save Scorpius now.

At this point, Scorpius didn't know what to think. Should he be proud and take it a sign that the Head Auror trusted him with the backlog of cases, the ones most Aurors had found difficult? Or should he take it as a sign that Auror Potter didn't trust him to handle cases with a higher likelihood of being solved- like the Copper Cauldron case?

Scorpius rolled his shoulder again, biting his lip. If he was Harry Potter, he wouldn't trust himself, truth be told. Scorpius had made a mistake, and a stupid one. It was the type of mistake that first year Aurors made when they got over-exited about bringing in their first little suspect- except Scorpius wasn't a first year, and he couldn't risk injuries like that anymore. Especially if he wanted the Head Auror to consider him for promotion.

Still mentally berating himself, Scorpius lifted a file out of his bag and stared at a photograph, spellotaped onto a single page amongst the pages, and pages of parchment notes. The photograph was of a skull, pristine, except for two small indentations that had been placed there by some force. The skull had been found on Muggle land, in a warded area, in a cursed box. Luckily for Scorpius, it had been during the time he and his partner, Phillipa Goldstein, had been on duty. Even luckier for Scorpius, Phillipa Goldstein was now on maternity leave.

Scorpius tapped the photograph against his thigh, trying to think of a single lead. He _could_ visit the skull in storage for a bit of morbid inspiration, but Scorpius doubted it would do any good. The bone had already been tested by the Unspeakables. What little information they had been able to extract hadn't given Scorpius much to go on, which was why the case was collecting doxies, still. Scorpius _could_ go check the missing persons list again by Auror Weasleys office, but that was sure to be an enormous file . . .

What would cause those indentations?

Hexes, curses, spells . . . Scorpius would need to research. _If_ the case was solvable, it wasn't solvable before the New Year . . .

_Goodbye social existence . . ._ Scorpius hummed a song to himself. _It was nice having you . . ._

Scorpius cast _tempus_, and stared at the time. Ten-forty. The day was moving ridiculously slowly, as though someone had charmed it to slog along.

Across the wall there was a poster, aged and faded with time, but permanently posted, as though it provided infinite inspiration. _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Wizarding Defense Begins with You! _Amongst the Hit Wizards and Law Enforcement Patrollers in their dated uniforms, was a young Harry Potter, chosen for what was supposed to be an 'informal' shot. He stood at the back, combing his thick dark hair over his forehead, trying to fade into the background despite his red robes.

Scorpius smiled at the poster. He had never noticed exactly how much Albus looked like the younger version of his dad. Harry Potter had been thinner, and more haunted- his face and body jaundiced by the war, his eyes wary and focused. Albus' hair was also more auburn than black, and he had freckles along the sides of his face and the bridge of his nose. And Albus didn't wear glasses; Jamie did . . .

Al had been so _different_ at the restaurant to the boy that he had known at Hogwarts. That Albus Potter would have never sought him out; would have never noticed him except to huff when he brewed his potions incorrectly, or to roll his eyes when Jamie and Scorpius had finally gotten caught in the midst of one of their pranks. In those days, Albus had sat on the sidelines because Jamie had forced him there, and surely part of that was Scorpius' fault. Scorpius was sure that a part of Al must hate him for not being the bigger person and standing up to Jamie and his ideas for 'fun'.

A swift feeling of shame swept over him, and Scorpius looked away from the poster. If there was a line, maybe Scorpius hadn't ever crossed it-but he had danced on it gleefully. And Jamie certainly _had_ crossed it, many times in his company.

_"Ow!" _A voice cried in the hall irritably, followed by the sound of something falling. "Sodding boxes stacked right here in the corridor! Who would do that?"

Scorpius snickered to himself. The hallway encircling the bullpen was quiet- most of the Aurors who could manage it had arraigned for their leave to coincide with the Yule holidays. The rest had taken later shifts so that they could sleep in, or had done weekends day flies just to avoid the morning doldrums in between night rounds. Scorpius had thought, probably absurdly, that he was the only wizard left in this sinking ship.

Teddy opened the door to Scorpius' office and started. "You're _here_, Malfoy?"

Scorpius made a face. Questions like that didn't deserve answers. "Did you stack up those papers you knocked over? Brown has to send them to the Witch Watchers when she gets back from her holiday."

"Wish I was on holiday," Teddy mumbled to himself, sitting down on Goldstein's chair. He opened the first drawer of Goldstein's desk, breaking every law of decency, and probably a few regulations for employment at the Ministry. Scorpius knew what he was looking for- when Goldstein had begun to get further along in her pregnancy, she had begun to operate a small sweets shop in their office, all due to her cravings.

"I ate it all," Scorpius shrugged. There hadn't been much. In the end, all there had been was a bar of _Flake_ and a Sugar Quill, left under _stasis. _Scorpius had took the spell as a cosmic sign that it was alright for him to eat it.

"Not going to Scotland?" Teddy pried.

Scorpius spun himself around in his chair to stare at Teddy. Teddy looked tired, his blue hair not it's usual teal, but a darkened, dismal navy. In fact, Teddy's hair looked just about as tired as Scorpius felt, even if the rest of Teddy was just as ridiculously handsome as ever.

Scorpius could still remember the first time he had met Teddy, almost perfectly, probably because it had felt so awkward, and the meeting had been so rushed. The marble floor had been cold under his bare feet, and Scorpius' grandmother had scolded him for being late, and for dragging his broom into the main house. It had been raining that afternoon. Thick like sheets, hard against the new glass that had had to be put in the Manor after the war. Teddy had grown freckles on his arm, then a scar. It had looked like a horseshoe.

Back then, Scorpius hadn't known what the dizzy flipping in his stomach had meant, but he had known that he couldn't look away from Teddy's face, even when it had morphed. Thankfully, just about the time Scorpius had figured out what his awkward stutters and pauses had meant for himself, the feeling had faded away.

And then after the lot of them had graduated Hogwarts, they had taken to hanging about Grimmauld; drinking Teddy's firewhisky, and eating all his takeaway. Teddy had always tolerated them with the long-suffering patience of an older sibling.

A _very_ attractive older sibling.

"Not yet," Scorpius sighed. His parents and grandmother had shut up the house, and had left already to join Aunt Daphne, Uncle Blaise and his Zabini cousins. If it wasn't for the mountain of paperwork on his desk, Scorpius would be joining them, sitting around the fire, playing chess, and acting out polyjuice plays that had grown stale a decade ago.

Even though he was warded here with a photo of a skull, it was pretty much the better option.

"You shouldn't feel as though you _have_ to go," Teddy stated evenly, and sympathetically. "You could come to France. With me and Victoire. It would be a good enough excuse, Snitch. You've never gone, and you speak the language, for Merlin's sake."

Scorpius lifted his shoulder and flinched back, his eyes watering. He had to remember not to do _that_ as well. Scorpius looked up quickly at Teddy, hoping he hadn't caught that involuntary show of weakness, but of course he had. Teddy said nothing, however. Either he had had the whole story out from his godfather, or the gossip had spread through the department faster than the Yule holiday had come.

Either way, Scorpius felt a bizarre mixture of embarrassment and frustration pass over him. He was _supposed_ to be better than an injury like this. No wonder he was shackled to his desk right now, his only company paperwork. No _wonder_ Harry Potter didn't have faith in him, despite his protestations to the contrary.

"Maybe next year," Scorpius smiled. Teddy and Victoire were newlyweds, and even though a year had passed since their wedding, they were still in that cutesy stage where being the only person alone with them made even the bravest Gryffindor feel uncomfortable.

"You'll miss Lily's birthday," Scorpius groaned. Lily was going to look for Teddy first thing- she had her friends and her _friends_, and if her _friends_ dared not to show up to one of her events, they would hear about it for years. Scorpius sighed. He didn't think that Albus Potter was the right sort of wizard for _this_ sort of task, no matter how utterly decent he was as a person. They needed a party planner, but the last time that Scorpius had hired one, Jamie had slept with her . . .

Scorpius had the feeling that Albus wouldn't have the same inclination- that was if Scorpius could convince Eire Finnegan to work with them again.

"I think if I can survive being born a war baby, I can survive Lily's wrath," Teddy grinned, his hair turning teal again. "So you're planning this party with Albus Potter?"

Scorpius was going to _AK_ Jamie. No- that was too kind. He was going to _imperio _Jamie to visit every single one of his ex-girlfriends and let them do the dirty wandwork for him. Fucking Potter. Couldn't even keep his mouth spellotaped for one day, could he?

"I guess you read that in the _Daily Prophet_?" Scorpius asked. The _Daily Prophet_ was one of their nicknames for Jamie.

"Mhmm," Teddy nodded. "Oooh look- a chocolate frog!"

It was a dusty and mashed chocolate frog that Teddy had had to pry from the edge of the desk drawer using both hands. Scorpius stared at it, both amazed that Teddy was considering _eating_ that, and amazed that Teddy had managed to get that out using his hands. But then again, Teddy was a chocolate fiend.

"Don't eat it, Lupin," Scorpius winced, but it was too late- Teddy had unwrapped the choccie (this time using his wand), and had plopped it into his mouth in one swift motion.

"Not the worst I've had," Teddy winced, swallowing. "But definitely not the best."

"That's what Vic says every night," Scorpius crowed and Teddy growled.

"Calm down, your hair is turning ginger," Scorpius said with nonchalance. "Do you want some of my pumpkin juice, then?"

"Give it here," Teddy held his hands out and Scorpius tossed it over. "So don't change the subject, Malfoy."

"I haven't changed _anything_!" Scorpius protested. He hadn't! Maybe he had gotten distracted seeing Teddy wrestle a chocolate frog out of a desk drawer to eat it, but all in all it was because it was slightly out of the ordinary. Actually, the topic was supposed to be for Scorpius to deal with the two cases he hadn't made any headway on, but he wasn't kicking Teddy out of his office to deal with his work, now was he?

"Now you calm down," Teddy grinned wickedly and Scorpius huffed. "What's going on between you and Albus?"

_Albus? _"What?" Scorpius stared at Teddy. Merlin- when had his male friends become worse than a coven of gossiping witches? "Is that what Jamie thinks?"

"Jamie thinks that you're sleeping with Al, or that Albus wants to- or that Albus is planning something," Teddy said, and Scorpius could see that Teddy was putting on his older brother cap again. "But that's obviously paranoia talking."

"Good," Scorpius stated fiercely. "Because I am _not_ interested in Albus."

Teddy put up his hands, as if that would absolve him of all interest in the topic. Scorpius watched Teddy carefully. There was a clearly implied _but_ in Teddy's explanation. So Teddy didn't think that Scorpius and Albus were interested in each other. And he also didn't think that Albus was planning something. Did this mean that Teddy thought _Scorpius_ capable of planning something?

A sick feeling of dread lanced through Scorpius. Didn't Teddy trust him? Scorpius understood about their families, and the war . . . . . . but good _gods._ Scorpius and Teddy had worked together, trained together. They had gotten pissed together. In some remote way they _were_ still family.

"Logical, old Lupin," Scorpius smiled carelessly, trying not to show how hurt he felt. Instead, he wheeled his chair over to where Teddy's was, stopping when their knees knocked together "So, what do you _really_ think?"

"I think," Teddy rolled his eyes. "That you've got to stop flirting with anything with a magical signature. One of these days you're going to get challenged to a duel you can not win. And why don't you come by Grimmauld anymore, like you used to?"

"You're married, now," Scorpius shrugged, pushing his chair back toward his own desk. Scorpius wouldn't even admit to himself that this final move was to avoid Teddy's searching, sympathetic gaze. "And I've got work, and so've you. We've both been busy. A Floo works both ways, you know. Besides, you know you can't keep me out of trouble."

Scorpius forced a grin, but it felt false and brittle. As if in retaliation for his lies, his shoulder throbbed once more, viciously.

Teddy's hair darkened back to navy. He rose up from Goldstein's chair, tossing the Chocolate Frog wrapper into the bin. "Well. If that's all it is, then fine. But you used to seem happier, Snitch. That's all I'm trying to get at. I'll leave you to get on with this. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Al is coming over for dinner," Scorpius sighed. If he had escaped their speculations before, by admitting this, Scorpius was tumbling right back into them.

Teddy said nothing. But his hair turned teal and then lavender- a hint that he was suppressing an emotion he had to express in another way. Scorpius narrowed his eyes. What was it about the Potters- and Teddy- an adopted Potter? Couldn't Scorpius have a new friend? Albus was being utterly decent and wonderful by overlooking all of the pranks that had occurred during their childhood at Hogwarts. He was even throwing a party for Lily- and Lily was _not_ the best sister- _hades, _she was even a better friend to Scorpius than she was a sister to Albus.

So what was the issue?

Did _everything_ have to boil down to picking a side? Did _everything_ have to mean that someone was planning something? If Scorpius was honest with himself, he might even think that Albus was planning something; the way that he was so willing to overlook Jamie and Scorpius' faults from the past.

"Albus is going over to your place," Teddy said slowly, as if he wanted desperately to comment on the proceedings, but his older brother cap did not allow it. "And he's going to . . ."

"Help me plan Lily's party," Scorpius frowned deeply until Teddy's hair turned teal again. "Do you know what Al likes to eat?"

"Why?" Teddy knocked his elbow against the door jab. "You're never going to cook for him, Snitch."

"Shut _up_, Ted," Scorpius whispered. "I'm a decent person, you know."

Teddy's hair turned violet at the roots, but he had no response.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This chapter was brought to you by the letter P for patience, which is what my reviewers and readers really need with me lately. Sorry guys. I'm working on another short story too, we'll see how it goes. It's a rare pair, just for fun, with a twist. I'll probably post it after I finish the Art of . . . series, which I am halfway done with the last chapter on. I also have the next chapter for this story done as well, so I'll try to post a bit quicker. _

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Part Five:

"What would you like to drink?" Scorpius asked, pushing up the sleeves of his warm looking grey jumper. It was a jumper that also stretched rather interestingly across his chest as he moved."I've got pumpkin juice, tea, coffee, water, firewhiskey, cider . . ."

"Whatever you're having is fine," Albus tried to smile back, though the grin felt pasted on. He couldn't quite believe yet that he was in _Scorpius Malfoy's _home, after all the years of desiring this single event to come true. Though, in his imaginings, it wasn't quite like this- Scorpius had still been a student at Hogwarts, and Albus had always envisioned slipping into the Manor; into his bedroom filled with Quidditch memorabilia-or to a lonely wing of a drafty castle.

But now, Scorpius lived on a small cottage, on his parent's estate. The cottage was on a solitary little patch of land, framed by a copse of trees on one side, and a frozen-over brook on the other end. Albus supposed that he had lost the perfection of his childhood dream without even noticing the fact that he had missed it slip away. Even if Albus had been too shy to make any sort of overture at Hogwarts, there still had been all the years in between, during which Scorpius was Lily's best mate. Perhaps Albus had thought that the delay would make him more confident. But instead, sitting here in Scorpius' kitchen, all Albus could think of was how much procrastination made people more anxious in the end.

"I got you a can of cider," Scorpius stopped short, as though he wasn't sure what to do with the two drinks now that they were out of the cooling cabinet. "But now that I look at them, I can tell you are clearly _not_ a cider wizard-"

"Never had it," Albus muttered, wondering what James had told Scorpius. Then Albus winced to himself. Albus was twenty-two years old and Scorpius should be capable of forming his own opinion about what sort of people he wanted to let into his life. But was Albus afraid that Scorpius was easily led? Or was he afraid that Scorpius was going to think for himself, and _still_ not want him?

"Anyway," Scorpius smiled, with a bit more confidence. "I'll get you a glass for some water, just in case. You can go in to the sitting room alone, you know. I don't keep any spiders in there."

Albus felt a shiver of distaste creep over his shoulders, as if a spider was going to land on him from the oak beams above. But then Albus smiled to himself- Scorpius still remembered what frightened him. It wasn't the most pleasant memory to have about a person, but it meant that Scorpius still had _some_ memories of him.

Anyway.

The cottage was small, much smaller than Godric's Hollow, really only meant for one person. It was decorated in the style that had been favored before the wars with Tom Riddle, which was again becoming popular. The sitting room itself was pretty sparse space, excepting a cozy fireplace, a brown modular sofa, and walls with tiny alcove shelving. Where there was no shelving, there was a plain white wall. And on the wall, there was graffiti. Loads of graffiti, taking up almost the entirety of the wall.

_Snitch Malfoy has a tiny little wand that he doesn't know how to use,_ Albus knew that script to be James'. _Roar like a Gryffindor,_ Someone else had written in purple, sparkling script. Someone had circled a corner of the wall in dark ink. _Tap your wand against this spot twice and Lily Luna will be forced to snog you topless. _In Lily's hand there was a bit of scratching beside it- _I will rip you into shreds if this works!_

_I wish that Louis Weasley would charm me to sleep each night, _someone had written in anonymous block letters. _Steal one of the hairs off of the Glamour Girls and I just might_, Louis had responded. Some of the notes were just names. _Hugo. Molly. Vic. Mummy. _

And in the corner, nearer the bottom. _Harry Potter, Head Auror and miscreant. _

"Will you sign it?" Scorpius asked, and Albus nearly jumped out of his robes and into the Floo flames. Scorpius was holding a glass, pattered with violets which opened and closed in the candlelight. "It doesn't have to be right now. It can be before you go."

"Sure," Albus responded and Scorpius beamed, setting the glass down by the cans of cider. "You've had a lot of people over here. It's almost the entire wizard world, I think. The _Daily Prophet_ would commit _AK_ for a photograph of this."

"Do you reckon?" Scorpius laughed, opening his can with a tap of his wand. "It started with me and Jamie when we were still trainees. It was just out of boredom, really; to break up the revising. Then we just tried to see how many people we could get over to sign it. You'd be surprised what people will write once you ply them with enough alcohol."

"Is that what you're doing to me?" Albus asked, and then his mind froze. He was nearly _flirting_ with Scorpius Malfoy- as though he was anybody worth chatting up at a club. And Scorpius was _not_ like that, and Albus did not want to make it seem as though he thought Scorpius was that type.

But then Scorpius' dark eyes flashed interestingly. He slid a barely-perceptible inch closer to Albus, as though they were in a crowded room, and Scorpius had to whisper in order to get his point heard through the cacophony of sounds. Albus felt himself leaning back, and the moment intensified.

"I don't know," Scorpius pressed his lips together and let his delicately full mouth hang open for one tantalizing moment. He had very straight teeth, Albus noted, his entire body reacting rapidly. Very white. Could _teeth_ be a kink? "Is it working?"

"No," Albus lied, and then suddenly they were back in the sitting room of Scorpius' cottage; the crackling of the Floo fire heating the small space in a merry winter scene. Albus could feel his face heat. He was an adult, and as a British wizard he should be more proficient in banter. But everything about Scorpius knocked his broom off balance.

"_Great_," Scorpius exclaimed, bounding over to the sofa. "You're such a Slytherin! Come on- don't think I'm going to let you get out of trying the cider, now."

Albus had completely forgotten about the cider, actually. He sat down on the long brown sofa, which was actually much more uncomfortable that it appeared from a distance. Albus tapped the can with his wand in the same manner that Scorpius had, trying to look convincing. Then he took a sip. It was carbonated, and tasted vaguely of rancid fruit.

"It's not bad," Albus took another sip. "I've had worse."

"You hate it," Scorpius said, his dark eyes dancing. He looked a bit wicked, and yet somehow a bit empathetic. _It was in the conflict that he was beautiful. _"I can drink both cans you know." "And get pissed, Malfoy," Albus said, surprised at his daring. Scorpius, however, wasn't. He just laughed.

"I wouldn't mind after this week," a shadow passed over Scorpius' face, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. For a moment Albus thought of pressing the issue, but he wasn't sure how to approach it since they were really just acquaintances. "Are you sure you don't want firewhiskey instead? Or pumpkin juice?"

"It's alright, really," Albus took another sip. It was better than bilderberry tea, to be sure. Besides, it was nice that Scorpius was being such a good host, but Albus didn't want to put him to any trouble. He was here, really, for one reason. To impress Scorpius.

"So," Scorpius said, taking a long sip and placing the can back on the table with a loud _click _against the glass. "Have you got any ideas, or are you using me as a font of knowledge?"

"_A font of knowledge_?" Albus spluttered, imaging bathing naked with Scorpius in one of those elaborate fountains just outside the estate- with the marble gods and goddess watching them frolic in the foam bubbles.

"What?" Scorpius frowned in mock frustration. "It was my attempt at prose. Fine. You using me as a sounding board, is that better?"

"Sorry," Albus smiled. "I shall try to use my skills as an author and an orator to assist you." Scorpius was so-so-_appealing _when he was frustrated. Albus couldn't help but imagine him rounding up criminals, pouting and scowling all the while. But then the feeling vanished, and replacing it was the insidious sense of frustration, distance and thwarted desire. Albus looked over at Scorpius' signature-graffiti wall again, and his eyes settled on a name. _Harry Potter, Head Auror and miscreant. _

"Does my father come over here often?" Albus asked, setting down his can of cider. It took some getting used to, but Albus was almost sure that he liked the drink now. He traced the circumference of the can lazily.

"Not _often_," Scorpius' made a face and shook his head dismissively. "That would be favoritism. I think your dad's been to everyone's home once for dinner. Or to their birthday parties. It's all very democratic, you see."

"Ah," Albus replied, trying to sound as though he wasn't fishing for information. Albus looked at the wall again. An editor for a magazine that had rejected him had left Scorpius a very pleasant message. "You _do_ know a lot of people." "My grandmother does," Scorpius shrugged. "Narcissa Malfoy knows everyone, doesn't she, bless her. I've inherited a lot of hand shaking and wand inspecting."

Albus couldn't help but laugh. "How is your grandmother?"

"Amazing," Scorpius' smile could have been by a Seer in Salem. He stood up and _accio_'d the empty cans of cider. "She refuses to sign my wall, the old crone. I'm going to have to cast _duplicato _on one of her documents when she's sleeping."

"That's very Slytherin of you," Albus remarked, delighted.

"Yes, well, you live with crups and you'll get fleas," Scorpius huffed. "I'm getting another drink, do you want one?"

"Yeah, sure," Albus said, feeling more relaxed by degrees- whether it was the combination of alcohol or the conversation going well, Albus really couldn't say. "Have you spoken to Lily lately?"

"Define lately," Scorpius came back, holding a can of cider in one hand and _levitating_ another can and two bag of crisps. "Here take one- I hope you like cheese and onion because that's all I've got."

"I do, thanks," Albus nodded reaching up for one of the floating bags and a can. "So what about my sister?"

Scorpius fell back against the sofa boyishly, in that bloke sort of way that Albus had never managed to acquire. As he flopped into the hard brown cushions, the scent of his cologne wafted into the air and brushed past Albus in a literally perceptible haze. For a brief moment Albus could smell and sense Scorpius around him, in a proper embrace. It was like something Albus could recognize in the darkness- a glimpse of his future and his past. For an author, the impossible had happened. He could not put the experience into words. He could never write this down.

"Lily Floo'd yesterday," Scorpius was talking, in between bites of crisps. "She said the shoot was going well, which is brilliant, which means she been distracted, and hasn't been planning her own party. She'll be home tomorrow, though-"

"What?" Albus winced. Albus usually kept up with Lily's exhausting lifestyle through Dominque, or his strained conversations with his father. It had been Albus' understanding that Lily was going to be away, working, for much longer than this. This was not good. If Lily was back tomorrow it meant that she was going to be constantly around Scorpius, and if Scorpius made excuses to miss their normal events, Albus could easily see Lily becoming suspicious.

"I can handle Lily," Scorpius looked as though he wasn't sure he could catch this snitch. "Don't worry, Al. We can do this."

_We. _

"I'm not worried," Albus huffed, to spite of his burst of confidence at the single word. "I'm just apprehensive."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Scorpius let out a small laugh-sigh. "Don't worry, even if everything goes wrong, we can just steal some crates of firewhiskey from my parents stores. If you can't remember a party, you'll always think that you've had the time of your life."

"That's borderline illegal," Albus laughed.

"Well, here's to treading the border carefully," Scorpius clinked his can against Albus'. "Do you want to hire someone? Or are we actually going to listen to Teddy and Jamie and Victoire and Dominique and Hu -"

"I know what you mean," Albus winced. Everyone was going to have an idea, and soon enough everyone was going to want their bit of input, _especially_ the relatives that were closest to him, and closest to Scorpius. Albus could almost hear Jamie now-_Albus is planning something._ Ever since Albus had Sorted Slytherin, he had been planning something to Jamie- even though Jamie had always been the first to antagonize him. Planning a relationship with James' best mate would be the ultimate hex in the eye.

"Well," Scorpius bit the edge of his full mouth beautifully. "We could hire a party planner. Victoire had one once for the fancy dress do that she threw for Teddy's birthday."

"Eire Finnegan," Albus remembered her. She had been a Hufflepuff- peachy hair, with a high-pitched laugh. At the party she had been dressed as a chocolate frog wrapper. At the end of the night, Albus was sure that his brother had unwrapped her, despite Teddy's growls to prevent him.

"Yes," Scorpius looked uncomfortable, as if he knew that Albus could follow his thoughts. For some reason, Albus felt ashamed of himself for thinking so low of his brother. His face pinked slightly, and all at once he could feel the condensation of the can sliding through his hands.

"I think it would be helpful," Albus tried to sound encouraging through his dry throat. _Fuck_. He was destroying every chance that he had. Albus took a large swig of the cider, wishing it was firewhisky, or even Muggle vodka. Albus needed parchment, and a quill. He could never tell Scorpius what he felt without those familiar guides.

"She's very nice and more than that, she did a wonderful job," Scorpius tilted his head, and Albus could see his tumble of frizzy curls, even if they weren't there anymore. "I know that- well, anyway Jamie will be busy with work, now that he's got my-"

"Your what?" Albus asked, leaning forward.

"Nothing," Scorpius shrugged, and then winced. "He's got nothing. Just something that James deserves. We'll see. You must be so tired of hearing about Aurors anyway. Why don't you tell me about your story? You were writing, about traveling?"

"Yes," Albus smiled, pleased that Scorpius had remembered. "It's going really well. I'm doing a piece on a wizard who is stranded with the sister of his fiancée in a cave in France. And through circumstance their wands break-"

"And let me guess," Scorpius smirked. "He realized that he was in love with the second sister all of the time."

Albus nodded, sinking into the familiar comfort of telling a tale. "But it's more than that," Albus gestured with a slack hand. "While trying to gather up food by hand, the bloke in the story, Phillip, is injured, and nearly dies. So there is this tension that he has betrayed his fiancée, and he will never be able to tell her the truth. And also the added drama of survival."

"Betrayal," Scorpius laughed. "I suppose the older sister just forgives them both and they disappear into the sunset, holding hands on brooms."

"Pretty much, although she has an amazing speech," Albus shrugged. "Why would you want to hold onto something and be made a fool of? He didn't have any gold, anyway- she could do better."

"Spoken like a true son of Salazar. Will you send me an advance copy?" Scorpius slid an imperceptible inch closer. "I promise I won't pass it around."

"Of course," Albus' face was going to spontaneously combust. "Do you read a lot of romantic stories?"

"It sounded as though there was more than romance in the story you're writing," Scorpius shrugged. "Besides, I like your style."

Albus didn't take that obvious compliment as a chance to be side tracked. "Thanks," Albus shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "But I've got other pieces you can read, if you're not keen on a love stories. I know that a lot of blokes are not massive believers in romance."

"Romance," Scorpius mused, rising from the awkward brown sofa. He took a sip of his cider, and stood in front of the graffiti wall. "You're a romantic Slytherin, That's different- how did intra-House dating work for you?"

"Didn't do much of it," Albus admitted, feeling already on guard to be teased.

"Well I've never dated a Slytherin at all," Scorpius took another sip of his drink. His dark eyes gleamed teasingly. "House loyalty and all. Although I have to say, I _do_ feel as though I am missing out."

Albus coughed out loud.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This chapter is brought to you by Getting to Know You and awesome reviewers humming Julie Andrews classics. Hints in this chapter are hints, poke at them and guess, please. Next chapter, AS/S action as well as Hugo, playing the role of agony uncle. As for my other story, I know, I know I'm on the last chapter and I haven't posted anything. I'm a monster, stone me with cookies. It's snowing here and I'm going outside. Enjoy and let me know what you think._

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Part Six:

"What do you think of these?" Lily asked. "Or the pearls, Snitch?"

Scorpius snickered, flipping one slip of parchment over to read the other side. Scorpius had asked Al Potter to send him a copy of his story, and last night Scorpius had received a little brown paper package, tied up with twine. However, it hadn't been the story that Albus had described to Scorpius the week before. Tucked inside the first page of the story had been a spellotape note:

_From a romantic Slytherin to a cunning Gryffindor- a story, just for him._

_Asp._

It was a story about a boy who had studied for months and months in order to discover his animagus form, but instead of turning into an animal, he had become a snitch. Scorpius had just gotten to the part where the boy had flown himself, accidentally, onto the Arrows field, when he had fallen asleep, exhausted from work. There were three more pages to go, and Scorpius was savoring it, as much as he was entranced and desperate to get to the end. No one had _ever_ written him anything like this before. No one had ever written him a story, actually- unless the stories his mother had told him at bedtime had counted. Of course, this was something else entirely.

It was amazing and genius. And _funny._

Scorpius snickered again.

"Are you _actually_ going to pay attention to a word I say today," Lily cried, and this time Scorpius did look up. "Or are you going to read your _post_? Who has written, anyway? Is it one of your cousins?"

"It's my aunt," Scorpius felt his stomach twist. He couldn't even think to lie properly and say which aunt it was outright. "I suppose she must be very bored with Mummy and Dad if she's writing me."

"Hmm," Lily nodded, absorbed in her reflection once more. Lily was still in her bra and knickers; a black lace and nude strap affair that didn't cover much. She tilted her head to once side, which let all her red hair tumble across the opposite shoulder. Then she _accio_'d a black halter robe off the edge of the bed, and pressed it to her torso critically.

"I've gained weight," Lily declared dramatically.

Scorpius groaned internally. They were already late- they didn't have time for Lily to have a meltdown about an extra ounce she imagined dangling from her eyelashes.

"Your tits look larger," Scorpius tried flattery as he reached off the edge of the bed for the firewhiskey. Lily kept her flat in such a state that Scorpius had to dig for the bottle underneath a Chinese takeaway carton, and a shredded _Witch Weekly_ magazine.

"That's just the _glamour_ on them," Lily adjusted the straps of her bra with a faint smile. "Worth going to Romania, for that. But I don't look fat to you, Snitchy?"

"I can barely see you," Scorpius stuck out his tongue in amusement. "And don't wear black. It makes your freckles stand out terribly. Wear the teal."

Lily reached for the teal dress and began wiggling into the skintight number. "I'm surprised that you haven't gone up to Scotland, yet, Snitch. Or is it because of-"

"_Lily,_" Scorpius whispered. "Don't be stupid."

Lily sat down at the edge of the bed and tapped Scorpius' leg twice. Without a word, he handed over the bottle of firewhiskey, and she took a large swig. Whenever she was away, Scorpius missed the silent communication that they had built up together, through years and years of friendship. Jamie was his best mate, and as such they always got on, but Lily was something else. Maybe in another world she would have been his wife. Or his sister. Something more essential than just a friend. She felt like something that familiar, yet external.

"I'm only asking because you haven't even told Jamie yet," Lily put her head on Scorpius' shoulder and Scorpius sighed. "Don't you think you ought to tell _him_, at least?"

"Jamie and I don't actually _talk_ about those sorts of things you know," Scorpius shrugged, and Lily's head bobbed at his side. When Jamie wanted to talk about shagging, he went to his cousins, or to Teddy. Scorpius was his best mate, but they didn't share _everything._ In fact, telling Jamie that he was gay had been the hardest and most awkward conversation of Scorpius' life. Much harder, actually, than telling his family.

"I just don't think that keeping a secret like this is going to work well, long term," Lily sat up then, and fiddled under her crumpled duvet until her hand came away with a strand of pearls. "Do these up, will you?"

"Come here," Scorpius reached around her neck. She had a splash of freckles down her neck, and chest, but her face wasn't very spotted, even without the addition of magical face powder. Not like Al. Albus reminded Scorpius of Ron Weasley in the amount of freckles he had.

It was oddly charming.

_Not_ Auror Weasley- he was not charming at all. He had the habit of looking at Scorpius as though he was a barely trained crup. But Albus. Albus was charming-

"_Will_ you tell Jamie?" Lily persisted. Ah- and Scorpius had _just_ removed his hands from her neck. Maybe next time.

"What for?" Scorpius was well aware of the fact that he was whinging.

"This _will_ come up, Scorpius," Lily looked cross then- but she always looked cross when she wasn't getting her own way, so it was nothing new. "If not during a party, then during Yule. _Or_ at the Ministry. Someone will get drunk and let the kneazle out. And you _know_ Jamie will cause a scene."

"Which is why we won't tell him a word," Scorpius smiled, and his face felt stronger than wand's wood. When Jamie chose to break up with witches, and they sought Scorpius out, it was always strained and awkward- especially in the early years when Scorpius had made the mistake of befriending a few of them. But this would be worse. Scorpius could _actually_ see Jamie doing something stupid.

"I can't let him be dragged into this," Scorpius stated. "Besides, it's done."

"That's what you said the last time," Lily pursed her lips, rising from the bed, her eyes darting around the room. "_Accio_ blue handbag! Ah- not this handbag. Oh well. You _always_ say that it's over, and nothing changes in your life. You're worse than a Hufflepuff. You just drift and keep on-"

"_Ugh_," Scorpius grimaced at the mental picture, "Lily!"

"Well, it's true," Lily huffed, pausing in front of the glass. "I'm going out without lipstick and no, I can't be bothered to do a charm. Does this look alright, or do I look too cheap for later on?"

The dress was so tight that Scorpius was pretty sure that he could actually see the outline of Lily's internal organs. Scorpius bit down a smirk and a smart remark- Lily was already glaring at him, as though she could read his mind just by looking at his expression. But that really didn't matter. Lily would easily outshine any witch tonight, lipstick or not. She had a model's long, lean lines, and a model's perfect bone structure. Growing up, Lily had been coltish, then waiflike- and because of it she had taken to wearing Jamie's jumpers under her school robes to hide her awkward form.

Until her fourth year. That was the year that Scorpius had found it necessary to break Hammond Barlett's wand, because he had attempted to do a reflecting charm on the Gryffindor bench at breakfast, just so he could look up Lily's skirt. Luckily Jamie had taken part of the blame, or the pair of them would have been expelled.

It had been worth it.

"Are we going?" Lily huffed, as if _she_ hadn't kept _him_ waiting. Scorpius rose from the bed, and Lily wrapped her arms around him, as she began to tuck his white Oxford shirt into his trousers.

"You're very handsome, Mr. Malfoy," Lily smiled. "Will you marry me? Oh- and don't forget the Portkey, Snitchy."

"I thought we were already married, Potter," Scorpius snorted, adjusting the angle of his trilby hat until it looked perfectly effortless. _Merlin_- he had a spot. How unfortunate. "We barely see each other, don't shag, and we're having affairs. Feels an awful lot like a Pureblood marriage."

Lily tapped his shoulder, and without a word of warning, _glamoured_ the spot.

"There you are," she grinned. "And don't worry, Snitch, I won't ask you about it."

"About what?" Scorpius asked, distracted. He had no idea where the Portkey was, and there was precious little time left until it was supposed to deactivate. Lily _always_ did that- she always left something laying about in her hovel of a flat, and then she made Scorpius look for it. Where was her maid, anyway? Scorpius wouldn't have been surprised if the poor witch had quit again- there was only so much magic could do, and no one dared use the Dark Arts on Harry Potter's daughter.

"About the letter in your pocket," Lily said triumphantly, and Scorpius stilled, his body _petrified_ to the spot. Had Lily seen the note? Had Lily recognized her brother's handwriting? _Gods_ there had to be a way for Scorpius to get out of this-

"Lily-"

"Snitch," Lily held up the Portkey, "We've got to go."

Scorpius backed away from the mirror and took the two steps to Lily's side. Though she had fallen silent for the time being, Scorpius knew from experience that she was merely waiting for the right moment to strike. Or had she _already_ talked to Jamie about it? Scorpius could imagine the pair of them, scheming worse than Slytherins, about Scorpius' imagined love life. As if he had time for an affair, with his career _banished_ beyond the grasp of even a first year trainee.

"Is he fit?" Lily whispered, her pointed hip knocking against a coin in Scorpius' pocket. _Thank the gods_- she didn't know that it was Albus. Not that there was anything to know, really. Except the party, of course.

Scorpius opened his mouth to tell her once and for all to shut her gob, but instead, a flash of Albus' face appeared in his mind. Albus had a crooked nose, and far too many freckles, and eyes that were so green that they made Scorpius almost ashamed to look into them. Was he fit? Scorpius wasn't quite sure. His mouth was pert and narrow, and it curved in a way that made Scorpius think of all the stories he wrote, and all the words he had locked up inside, but never let out. Anyone off the alley would say that James was more handsome, and that wands down Lily was the real beauty of the Potter clan. But Albus was more interesting to look at. Scorpius could look Albus for days and not be bored- his face was like a novel, unfolding constantly.

"I-" Scorpius wasn't even sure what he was going to say. Something incriminating, surely.

But the Portkey went off, and his words disappeared into the night.

* * *

Scorpius was exhausted. The sweat was pouring from every pore in his body, and he felt as though his bones were literally separating from his cartilage under his robes. Still, he had to push on. Pausing was _not_ an option; even though right now his wand was temptingly close, just out of reach. If only Scorpius could get at it, and cast _aguamenti_. One sip of water would be like a hydration potion right now. One drop would be enough, really, for him to regain momentum- he wouldn't ask for more. It was mad, but now even Scorpius' hands were even sweating; even between his fingers. Scorpius was done in- there was supposed to be that fabled second wind, but at this moment it felt like a fantasy that elder Aurors told their trainees-

"_G'wan Malfoy,_" Scorpius heard a cat-call. It was Jamie, doing a horrible impression of a Scottish accent. "_G'wan my son._"

Scorpius huffed down a laugh, but he knew better than to turn his head and drop the pulsating, charmed ball of mass that the Aurors trained with. The ball itself was nothing more than an illusion- a tiny little pod that grew and grew as the Aurors tossed it back and forth. It increased in weight and size, until it was the maximum mass that that Auror was able to handle and train with. Scorpius was _not_ a huge fan of the ball, but when he tried to avoid it Jamie's uncle Ron always managed to appear at the bullpen; parchment in hand. And Scorpius couldn't afford a row with him, especially not with his shoulder in the state it was in these days.

Scorpius heard a thud. Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw James drop down in the corner of the mat beside him, tossing his bag down with the ease that Scorpius missed using. _Damn_ his shoulder, and his impulsiveness.

Jamie was taping his left hand with magi-gauze. He had an old Quidditch injury that had never healed properly, mostly likely due to the fact that Scorpius and James had tried to Heal it themselves first, using books from the Manor. Then, they had ignored it for a week, while Jamie's hand swelled to comical size. There had been pranks to dole out, after all.

"How's the case going?" Scorpius asked. _Someone_ had to mention it. It was getting too bloody awkward. Was this what it would feel like if Jamie slept with one of Scorpius' exes? Scorpius tried to imagine it, and winced. Either way, really, the tension was reaching idiotic proportions.

"Good," James tossed the ball against the pad and it registered neatly, striking out in a gold flash of sparks. "Really good, Snitch. You did almost everything, all I had to do was brew the ingredients you had left in the cauldron."

"I was better in Potions," Scorpius said dryly and then bit his tongue. _You're supposed to be happy for your best mate, you plonker._

"I _am_ sorry that I took your case you twat," Jamie grinned, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes completely. Throughout their friendship, James had been the older one, the fitter one- the one who had come from the right family. Scorpius had always been made aware by the entire school, and by the world, really, that he was the hanger on. And then the Fates had decided to make him gay as well. It was really the best punchline- only it was on Scorpius himself.

"Don't be an arse," Scorpius huffed, trying to focus on both his workout and the conversation. Thankfully doing both meant that he had to give up his pity parade. "I get my mention, you get the glory- nothing's changed, really. I exist to make you look good."

James grinned.

"What are you doing?" Jamie asked, groaning as he missed his target and the ball ricocheted across the charmed, padded floor, becoming twice as heavy and triple the weight in one go. Scorpius held back a laugh. Watching Jamie get his wand clipped by an intimate object in a one-sided duel was always hilarious.

"Sweating my balls off, clearly," Scorpius muttered under his breath. He nearly missed that time. Scorpius was winded, and tired, but he wanted to gain some strength back in his shoulder. Being dependent on potions was not something he relished.

"Charming," Jamie let out a long breath. "Give me a minute and I'll hex them off for you. I meant tonight, you Janus Thickey patient."

"James Potter," Scorpius smiled evenly. "The only employed _Inferius_ in the wizarding world, and my best mate. I feel so honored."

"You should be, Malfoy," Jamie shrugged his nose to push up his glasses. "My fabulous decomposition has fascinated many a witch. Please don't pick at my rotting flesh, resist the temptation. I'm not an object for your amusement. I am a wizard, just like you."

Scorpius couldn't help but laugh. Because of the distraction, he missed the target by a wide margin, and Scorpius' orb went rolling off into space, knocking against the ward that kept all the workout mats folded and shrunken tight in a large wooden cabinet. Scorpius sighed as he stood up, sweaty and exhausted. Jamie had won, and he'd likely crow worse than an owl holding a letter on a locked windowsill.

_50 Galleons._

"Jelly wand," Jamie taunted and Scorpius won the wager with himself. _Gods_, James was never going to grow out of being sixteen. "You tired, then?"

Scorpius nodded. "What did you want to ask?"

"I'm coming over," Jamie hit the mark without looking. Fucking _Potter._ Scorpius could do better, if it wasn't for his shoulder. "It's the Arrows versus Puddlemere."

"You don't support either of them," Scorpius said idly as he stared into the glass across the bullpen. His hair was getting long again; it was time for another cut. Scorpius was supposed to Floo Al Potter tonight. He really didn't think that Al wanted to have a conversation about champagne versus firewhiskey with his brother in the room.

"Yeah, but if Puddlemere wins then they have to play the Cannons," Jamie frowned. "When did you stop liking Quidditch? Have you got the Malfoy Malady?"

_Yeah, I'm a homosexual,_ Scorpius almost said, but he bit down the quip. James could handle so much before he imploded. And Scorpius was already testing his fortitude by having Al over on a regular basis.

"Don't be stupid," Scorpius laughed. "My great-grandfather made that up to cover for his affairs. Are we going to play Quidditch Gobstones?"

"My darling," James drawled, looking over his shoulder, his dark eyes full of glee, "I thought you'd never ask."

Scorpius grinned. Sometimes he really fucking _loved_ Jamie Potter.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: This is so so late. I'm so sorry guys, lately things have been so hectic in my private life that I haven't had a moment to do anything, but I *am* thinking of my stories and I * will* finish them. In the next chapter there is some revelation regarding Scorpius' situation, some AS/S action, and Scorpius wondering how this would all work out as a real relationship. (He should not be thinking he should be shagging)._ _Reviews are lovely I love them, and thanks a lot for dealing with me everyone!_

* * *

Part Seven:

"_Don't_ drop that," Hugo frowned, attempting to swivel his body on the high rolling ladder that he had pressed against the library-like shelves in the storeroom. Albus bent his knees and dipped his back, as though the weight of the parcel was too much for him to manage without magic- but then he straightened right back up again before Hugo scolded him for dropping the parcel.

"What's in here?" Albus huffed, actually feeling the weight of the bloody thing as he carried it to the long oak table in the center of the room. When Hugo had called him, asking for his help, Albus had pretended to be busy for a half-hour before Flooing back a disgruntled yes. But that was only the Slytherin in him. Hugo was the best male mate that Albus had in the family, and Albus was experiencing a bout of writer's block so deep that even hexes couldn't penetrate it.

So a yes was the only real answer to give.

"Bottles," Hugo shrugged, making his way down the ladder with elaborate care. Hugo had a horrid fear of heights, and while the rest of the family flew, leapt and Portkeyed; Hugo barely got his Apparation license. Albus had offered to brave the torture of the ladder for him, but Hugo had said he was the only person who understood his filing system.

A filing system that seemed to consist of doxy-filled boxes on bookshelves; parchment spellotaped to the ground, and pairs of shoes, for some reason, left in a sink. Albus was not a neat person, but Hugo made him feel compulsive.

"No, that's the cauldrons," Hugo said, tapping a box to determine the contents. Albus wasn't quite sure the logic of that, but then again, Hugo had never been the most logical out of all the Weasley cousins. One of the smartest, yes; but intellect and logic didn't always seem to wander wand-in-wand.

"Couldn't you have tapped the box with your wand when it was up there?" Albus muttered; thinking of his poor back as he took a seat at the long table.

"_No_," Hugo hissed, horrified, throwing a hand to his chest. Albus bit back the very Slytherin urge to mock him. Hugo could be rather camp at times, even camper than Albus, though he was straight. Hugo simply was an animated person- from the top of his vibrant red curls to the base of his teal loafers; everything about Hugo seemed to stand in stark relief to the world's pastel hues. Hugo was the type of person that drew others in, and led where others followed. He was a _sunshine personality_, as Albus thought of some people he knew.

Like Scorpius.

Albus, with his stories and plodding along, was merely a moon. He was drawn in those bright beings. He was led, despite the fact that he was meant to be cunning.

"If I would have touched that box with my hands I would have fallen off of the ladder," Hugo reasoned.

"You only needed to let go with one hand," Albus started, but then he sighed. Fear was an illogical thing- if a spider would have crawled out from beneath one of Hugo's moldy old boxes; Albus would have Apparated home without so much as shouting a good riddance to his cousin.

Hugo made a face and opened the first box with an unsealing spell. A cloud of dust puffed up into the air, rather dramatically, rather like something in the Muggle films that Albus' father used to take them to see during the weekends when their mum would take Lily shopping on Diagon. Well, before everything_._

"Rather like something in a novel," Albus muttered, clearing the air with a quick charm.

"Hmm," Hugo agreed. "Like something in a good novel. So nothing like yours."

"_Ooh_," Albus cried, striking his chest as though a Hex had managed the distance of the long table and penetrated his worn t-shirt. "That was almost caustic, Huge. Stick with me, and in a few years you'll be as bitter as mugwort."

"You catch more Faeries with wit than you do with cunning," Hugo retorted, opening another box. "_Ah_! Scrolls!"

"I don't want Faeries," Albus huffed, disregarding Hugo's sudden interest in some of the moldiest scrolls that Albus had ever seen in his life. The scrolls looked as though they had never met a single preservation charm. They looked as though they would disintegrate in Hugo's hand, as he stared at them lovingly, his eyes sparking as though a Dark Lord had bleached the parchment with a love potion.

"I don't want Faeries," Albus repeated, as though the scrolls were a group of screaming children and Hugo's wife was in another room. "What I want is a nice, stiff-"

Hugo dropped the scroll at that. He made a face between disgust and curiosity. It was information quarreling with information. But this time Albus' gossip won. Hugo tapped the scroll twice, and it rolled up into itself, folding up into a precise little cylinder which Hugo stored away. Albus did not remark on the fact that once again Hugo forgot a preservation charm. He was being magnanimous. Today.

"Bloke, I reckon," Hugo supplied with a grimace, returning to his box. "These aren't the files I need, burn the witch. And I thought Snitch Malfoy was seeing someone at the Ministry?"

As usual Albus was amazed by Hugo's ability to multitask. Multitask _and _deliver horrible, devastating news. Albus ignored the twisting, knotting, gnawing sensation in his stomach for a moment for a swift denial.

"Nobody said nothing about Scorpius Malfoy," Albus muttered, not bothering with proper English.

"_You_ might not have," Hugo had _finally_ released that bloody box with an audible thump. "But Jamie did. He told Molly that you had let your crups start sniffing around his tree, if you know what I mean."

Albus made a face. What sense did _that_ make. Scorpius Malfoy was gay and James was straight. At least Jamie told himself he was straight, Albus thought snidely. James had always been one of those straight wizards whose swaggering masculinity and over-reaching charm seemed to compensate for some insecurity. Or at least that was what Albus told himself when Jamie when out night after night with his mates, and Albus stayed at home, alone.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had never seemed to fit in with Jamie's mates. He had always been outlandish and loud, but he had never taken things to the extremes James did. Albus tried to imagine what Scorpius did when James chatted up witches at the pubs Aurors went to, but the Arthimancy didn't equate in Albus' mind. Maybe Scorpius hung about with the rest of blokes, drinking cider and ale, betting on Quidditch and Quodpot.

Or maybe he _did_ have a boyfriend.

"Who is the bloke?" Albus forced the words through his teeth. He was _not_ going to say boyfriend. Saying that was going to make this real, and Albus _refused_ to make that a possibility.

"No clue," Hugo made another face. Clearly Hugo was not interested, but he was playing along for Albus' sake. Hugo had never entertained nonsense, and an obsession with a wizard who never noticed you was nonsense. "Someone big. Enough to get Malfoy shipped off to America for a while."

_Salem._

"How do you know all this?" Albus asked faintly. Had Scorpius slept with the Minister? An Unspeakable? Someone married in his own department? Albus tried to think about it- nearly all the wizard Aurors were married, and Scorpius was beautiful. Very, very beautiful.

"Well," Hugo huffed. He was reaching the limit of his tolerance, and despite the vibrancy of his robes, he wasn't one to be meddled with. Being tormented his whole life with Weasley products had made Hugo stronger than a giant. "Victoire told Dominique and Dominique told Molly and Molly told Lily and Lily told Rose and that's how I know."

Albus blinked. Twice. He added in a third for good measure. "And how does Vic know in the first place?"

"No idea!" Hugo flopped his hair forward in his favorite affectation. "It's just gossip, Potter!"

"Then why tell me!" Albus cried, jinxing Hugo right in the center of his overpriced robes.

* * *

Albus traced the edge of his wand as he walked along the gravel path. Two days ago Hugo had casually tossed out the ward-breaking news that Scorpius might or might still be in a relationship, and Albus _still_ could not get it out of his mind. Albus went to the magazine to work, and he thought about Hugo's statement- in the middle of meetings; ruining opportunities for furthering his nonexistent career. Albus went to florists that Scorpius had booked for him to choose from, and Albus couldn't help but link the two in his mind, bizarrely.

Albus wrote, and of _course_ he wrote about clandestine love- instead of the commissioned work he had piled up on his desk.

He had seen Scorpius once since his meeting with Hugo. It had been quickly- just a little Floo drop off to agree to disagree on some decorations. Scorpius had acted the same way he always had around Albus- friendly, polite, funny, and just a tad bit impersonal. Scorpius was the type of person that it seemed it would take a Hogwarts legacy to get to know; maybe an Auror's career worth of time. But Albus didn't have that luxury. He needed him _now._

But back to the matter at hand. In the brief minutes that they had been alone together after Hugo's news, Albus had watched Scorpius up and down, trying to gauge him using any of the inherited detective techniques that Albus might have gained from his father. But Albus saw nothing to give away a lover. Scorpius was aloof, but he wasn't remote. At one point, Albus deliberately put his hand out on the table; touching Scorpius' sleeve, just to see what would happen. _Alright_- and to feel the soft, wonderfully tailored fabric against the warmth of his body, if only for a moment.

Scorpius did nothing. He didn't flinch back, alarmed; blushing and making excuses. He just smiled, and flirted a bit in that manner he had. Sweet. Smooth. If he was in a relationship, Albus doubted that Scorpius would act that way.

He had to believe that.

These were the thoughts running through Albus' mind as he made his way to Scorpius' cottage. Albus had felt a supreme, yet bizarre sense of pride when Scorpius had amended the wards of the Manor and granted him access. But right now, Albus felt none of that joy or excitement. It all felt tarnished, and abused- Jamie had been here first, anyway- and even if Albus didn't count James, there was Lily, who was Scorpius' best mate. And whoever was that shadowy boyfriend, if he _even_ existed.

Albus was going to draw Hugo up and hang him. Bloody gossiping apothecary that he was. What a cliché.

Albus had been so caught up in his own thoughts and rampant emotions that he hadn't noticed that the latch of the cottage door had been left undone. And that Scorpius was not in the sitting room as he normally was; with tea and a confident, flirtatious grin on standby. Instead, in the kitchen, just off the small hall, was Scorpius' mother, Mrs. Malfoy, staring at him as though he had descended on a besom fashioned out of a collection of stolen wands.

"Gaia," Mrs. Malfoy whispered. "You _do_ look like your father. My sister fancied him terribly at school. Of course she wasn't supposed to, being Slytherin and that sort of thing."

Albus could feel his face begin to burn. Albus had always thought growing up that Scorpius looked just like his father, but this wasn't the case. Mrs. Malfoy was the photograph to Scorpius' negative- she had dark, curling, lustrous hair, while Scorpius had hair that was fine, delicate and wavy; but swallowed up all the light in the room due to it's fairness. She had given her son her bone structure as well- high cheekbones, though the pointed chin was all Malfoy. Her last and wisest bit of genetic parting had been her large, sensuous mouth. On a woman's face, it was simply an addition to a puzzle. On a young man's it made a handsome visage become dangerously erotic.

She was stunningly beautiful, and because she had a Greek, olive complexion she looked so young; young enough to be her husband's young sister. It was hard to stare at her. Albus wondered vaguely how Malfoy, in the post-war world, had managed to _accio_ a witch like Astoria Greengrass.

"Scorpius looks just like you," Albus blurted out and then winced at his gaffe. _Smooth._

"Nonsense," Mrs. Malfoy said, although she _did_ look a bit taller at the compliment. "He looks just like his father. Acts just like Draco as well. It's just that you haven't seen them in the same room together, my darling. Scorpius said you were a writer?"

"Yes," Albus nodded, holding back a smile. His stomach was doing some sort of a happy jig to the tune of _Scorpius talks to his mother about me- Scorpius talks to his family about meee-_ "I mostly do freelance pieces for magazines and newspapers."

"Ah," Mrs. Malfoy didn't look upset, but she didn't look particularly pleased either. _Bloody hell._ "And you are planning a party for your sister? Scorpius told me that this was your idea?"

"Ye-es," Albus had a rush of realization. Scorpius wasn't in a relationship at all. Albus was going to save up, and one day he was going to buy out the lease of Hugo's shop, and evict him for being such a giant, gossiping shit. At this moment Mrs. Malfoy was _interviewing_ Albus. Interviewing him for a potential mate for her son. Albus took in a large breath. Albus was _in_, as Jamie was prone to saying before he went out to pull at clubs and pubs. There was a chance now.

"Well," Mrs. Malfoy smiled her own son's flirtatious smile. How odd to see it on another face. "I wish you luck with my son. He's so scatterbrained, you're going to have to put in a lot of work to keep him focused. Now I really must go."

"Oh," Albus felt vaguely disappointed. "Well it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Goodbye," Mrs. Malfoy called, swirling around in yards of velvet and silk. "Have Scorpius bring you up to Scotland. My husband and sister would love to meet you."

Albus took that for Slytherin prose for: _a slow dissection and careful anaylsis,_ _and then a decision of what to do with his bones._ Albus sighed as Mrs. Malfoy left. He had one Malfoy's approval at long last. It just wasn't the Malfoy he was trying to impress.

There a moment of silence between the Floo fire crackling down to embers, while Albus sat down to berate himself' cozy in his eternally brooding fashion. Of course at that moment Scorpius rushed back -bringing the cold, and all the warmth of his personality with him. He was wearing a Muggle t-shirt and no cloak; the kind of shirt that everyone at Hogwarts had loved to wear during Hogsmeade weekends. Scorpius' shirt, of course, was as unique and Gryffindor as he was.

_A Black Family Heir_, it said in a font that mimicked the labels for the most popular butterbeer brand in England. _Limited Edition - Get One While they Last!_

Scorpius paused in the entryway of his own sitting room, blocking out the names of the Minister's children on his wall. "Al? You're early! Has my mum gone then?"

"Yes," Albus wondered if Scorpius was trying to calculate what his mother had said to him, and internally, Albus grinned. For a brief moment, Albus had the upper hand in their little duel of a relationship. Whatever it was. "I'm not early. You just forgot I was coming. Again."

"I could never forget about you coming," Scorpius stuck out his tongue slightly, stroking the edge of his bottom lip, and whatever ground Albus had had, he lost. Albus stared too long, reacted too easily. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin all over again, but Scorpius knew too many of the rules of the other team.

And he was too bloody fit to ignore. Especially in those jeans.

"Yes, well. " Albus tried to sound annoyed, by Scorpius' little tease, but even to his own ears his voice sounded splintered. Scorpius came around the sofa, and sat down. Normally, Scorpius flopped beside Albus, charmingly and boyishly, but today he sat down, carefully. And closely.

And he didn't say anything. Albus frowned; his intestines threatening to burst like a combustible potion. Scorpius usually brought out a receipt from the caterers or some other news about the fete, and offered him a drink. Albus didn't cope well when people didn't follow their normal scripts. Damn Scorpius for acting like a Gryffindor, _again._

"You told your mum about the party," Albus tried for conversation. If Scorpius moved an inch closer, Albus was going to try to Apparate out. For Merlin's sake, he could _feel_ Scorpius' heat, even if they weren't touching. Albus flushed, involuntarily.

"I told my mum about _you_," Scorpius said, and Albus could smell the faint tinge of alcohol on his breath. The announcement, and the distinction gave Albus more hope than he could express. But Scorpius had been drinking. _But_ to put on another pair of robes, Scorpius had been with his mother. Wizards hardly got up to mischief in the company of their mums.

"Oh," Albus finally mumbled, rather stupidly. He had waited too long and there was that horrid, awkward pause that made Albus sound simple. Which he sometimes felt. But Scorpius really didn't need to know that.

"Al," Scorpius was touching his shoulder- _touching_ his shoulder. "Albus. I'm going to snog you."

And he did just that.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hey everyone! This update came a little bit faster than the last one, so I hope that's a bit better, lol. This have calmed down on the personal front, so the last 2-3 or 3-4 chapters of this mini-story should come out pretty quickly. I was asked in a review about any other relationships that Scorpius might have had. That will come out by the end. Or to put it better, there will be a showdown. Albus finds out more second hand information in the next chapter and by the final confrontation he thinks that he knows it all. Hmm. There's also a little interaction with Albus and his father, which goes a long way in explaining Al's feelings toward his father. That's next chapter. I hope that you all what's going on, and please review._

* * *

Part Eight:

Albus was sitting on the sofa, crossed-legged, no shoes. It had taken another four days after their snog, and three more snogging sessions after that, before Al had felt free enough to take off his shoes in Scorpius' cottage. Scorpius smiled at that. It was anarchy, probably, for a Slytherin to act as free as Albus was doing now. Scorpius had never seen his father barefoot, and they were a very close family. In fact, Scorpius had only ever seen his mum in her house robes when she was very sick, or if when they were on holiday in Greece.

Perhaps Albus was making some sort of declaration.

Scorpius wasn't quite sure how to react to that. Commitment was something that Scorpius had always felt a bit horrified by, especially considering the fact that his family married young and stayed married- despite everything, including affairs, imprisonments, and Dark Lords. Maybe he was more like a Black, in that sense. Something about him was a little too wild, a little too badly put together; a little too rebellious. Scorpius had always reasoned that he had enough commitments in his life between his work, his family, and his friends. Love, or the idea of love, could wait.

But was that just a line Scorpius fed himself? It was so hard to know, truly. Scorpius had made such a fool of himself in the past over people. He winced now, thinking about it. Everyone _must_ have known, everyone must have whispered and gossiped, and laughed at him. Or was it the other way around? Had Scorpius been right? Had the signs he imagined to be there, actually _been _there? Sometimes it was all so hard to know. All Scorpius had known was how he felt, and how he acted. And how he had made himself look. How he still looked, possibly.

Either way, it didn't matter. Scorpius was a Gryffindor, but the vaulted courage had failed him at the final flight. When it had came time to speak to _him_, Scorpius couldn't do it. He knew, deep down, that there was a massive chance he was nothing to _him_. Just a child to be teased, and laughed at, and admired.

So Scorpius left to Salem like a good little boy. Like a good little crup to have his tail docked.

The bitterness still stung. Scorpius had let down some old post-war, Malfoy defense and he had been hurt. The first thing an Auror learned was never to let down their guard. And Scorpius had done that, stupidly. And he kept at it, idiotically.

Like a child. So if _he_ thought that, then _he_ was right.

"Are you done in there?" Albus drawled, and Scorpius smiled to himself, mixing the last bit of firewhiskey into their drinks like an expert Apothecary.

"Nearly done," Scorpius called back. He nearly charmed the cork into the last bottle of liquor, but then he paused, wand in hand. Scorpius grinned to himself, adding just a dash more into one of the glasses. Al was adorable with a flush on his cheeks; the red of the alcohol making the freckles stand out brilliantly.

Scorpius walked back into the room, carefully balancing the tray. He hadn't bothered to put a charm on it to protect it from spillage, either. If a bit of a drink splashed down his shirt, or his trousers . . . Scorpius smothered a grin to himself, staring at Albus' bare feet. He wasn't sure if either of them knew exactly what game they were playing at, but both of them were trying to up the stakes. Scorpius had made the first move, though. It was Albus' turn now to make the next leap. Maybe by the time they were thirty they'd get beyond snogging.

"It looks vile," Albus said by way of a thank you. Scorpius pretended not to notice the way Al's eyes lingered on his thighs as he sat down, or Scorpius' arms as he stretched one around Albus' cozy form.

"It's not for you to admire," Scorpius rolled his eyes. "It's for getting pissed when it's cold outside. It's an old tradition, passed down though the generations."

"In Gryffindor," Albus said doubtfully, and Scorpius once again pretended not to notice that Albus was shifting closer to him. Albus smelled good. Like parchment left in the sun, or like a set of Sugar Quills- sticky and sweet, melted together because they had been left in a robe pocket for too long. Scorpius shifted a bit closer, and Albus turned to look at him, some warmth melting the doubt.

"Just try it," Scorpius nudged his shoulder. "Don't you want to swallow what I've been brewing?"

Al flushed at that. "Do you _have _to?"

"Always," Scorpius waggled his fair eyebrows, feeling a supreme sense of satisfaction as Albus lifted the glass nearest him. But it was quickly dashed as Al switched the glasses, so that the glass nearest Scorpius was replaced with the one nearest Albus. And so that Scorpius now had the drink with the greatest amount of alcohol.

"Don't trust me?" Scorpius pouted, a bit mockingly.

"With my life," Albus said, so seriously-so deathly seriously- that Scorpius suddenly felt a bit ashamed, and a bit annoyed. Didn't Al ever laugh at himself? Didn't he flirt? Take the piss? Banter? Now it was Scorpius' turn to flush. Dear _Gods_. Scorpius hadn't felt so misshapen since he was a little boy, and his two grandfathers had been alive. Back then, he had been caught pretending to be ill- taking potions from his mother's Apothecary cabinet; all so that he could miss Greek lessons. His father hadn't cared much one way or another, but his grandfathers had thought it showed a defect in character-

"_Gahh_," Albus had taken a sip. His voice was hoarse. "It burns on the way down. My chest aches as well. Is that normal?"

"Yes," Scorpius smiled vaguely. "There's a spell to help with that, the girls used do it. It made icicles form on their tongues. They used to do it and then snog the blokes- melt water into their mouths."

"Attractive," Albus snorted, but then he paused tentatively. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"When I was younger I used to skip Greek lessons," Scorpius muttered, staring into Al's eyes. _Merlin_ he had lovely eyes- a very sharp green; a color that was actually like moss, instead of the lyrical hoops and Portkey twists that wizards sang about in love songs.

Scorpius was almost positive that with their help, Albus was recording everything that was being said between them, and storing it away in some massive mental Pensieve.

"Shocking," It was Albus' turn to taunt him, and this time Albus moved a bit closer, daring to stroke the edge of his robes, right by his shoulder. Scorpius grinned back in encouragement; thanking the gods that Al was on the side of his good joint.

"A naughty Gryffindor," Albus huffed out sarcastically, though his face was pink with pleasure. "You're clearly the first."

"Obviously," Scorpius turned, lightening fast, and pressed a quick series of kisses to Albus' mouth. There was something so endearing about Al. Something about the way he pretended to bluster, and scowl; and judge everyone and everything. Had this been the way his mother had felt when she had turned down all her suitors for Scorpius' father? Had it been the feeling that she could do more for him than those nameless wizards could do for her?

Albus stared up at him, his mouth cherry red and bruised from kisses, quirked into annoyance. Even his freckles seemed to sulk away into corners. Scorpius couldn't help but grin.

"_Merlin_," Albus muttered, pushing his shirt down awkwardly. "You ought to grow your hair out."

Scorpius made a face. He _hated_ his hair. It was curly like his mum's, but fair, like his father's. It was hair that was meant for a witch, and an impediment for dueling, since he could easily be dragged about by it. "What, like at Hogwarts?"

Albus sat up suddenly, tangling his knees with Scorpius'. Scorpius shifted slightly.

"I want you to," Albus grinned, tangling his fingers in the crown of Scorpius' shorn head. "Be a good Gryffindor, Malfoy, and blindly follow where better wizards lead."

_That_ annoyed him. Scorpius shook off the fingers in irritation.

"And what will you do for me?" He scowled, shifting his body to take a sip of the stronger drink.

There was a long silence. _Great, _Scorpius thought to himself. He had annoyed Al, Al had annoyed him, and now Scorpius would have to figure out how to rectify the situation. And judging by the way his parents had reacted the few times Scorpius had upset them during his childhood, Slytherins held grudges. Scorpius sighed. He wanted to at least be friendly with Al.

As friendly as two people who had snogged could ever be, anyway . . .

"Scorpius," Albus said evenly, and Scorpius turned around, dreading the atmosphere.

Albus had unbuttoned his shirt to the last three buttons on the very bottom, exposing his chest to the edge of his navel. Scorpius sucked in a breath. Al had an amazing chest, except the word _amazing_ was so overused nowadays- to the point where it meant nothing at all, really. And now Scorpius was thinking all this just to stall for time. Just to cover for the fact that he couldn't speak. In front of him stretched acres of soft, freckled skin, unmarred by any scars or blemishes.

"You're lovely," Scorpius muttered, oddly touched at the way Al was letting down his wards. But as soon as Scorpius said those words, a slow slide of guilt burned through him. Even _if _Scorpius was good for Albus, was Albus good for _him_? Were they right for each other in any true sense of the word? Scorpius swallowed again and the moment of guilt and self-loathing passed, quicker than he had anticipated. But it left Scorpius feeling hollow, and foolish.

"I look like an idiot," Albus said blandly, a flush breaking out against his collarbones and traveling toward his chest. Thankfully, though, that broke up the last of Scorpius' thoughts. "Are you ever going to take off yours, or am I meant to suffer?"

"All Slytherins are meant to suffer," Scorpius grinned, reaching for his wand so that he could tease out the reveal of his own body.

But then-

"My coin's gone off," Scorpius whispered, feeling in his pocket for the raised lettering of the charmed device. Scorpius would never admit it, not even to himself, but he felt a wash of relief overtake the sickly guilt in the pit of his stomach.

"What?" Albus asked- and then added in a low hiss, "_What_?"

"My coin," Scorpius repeated, feeling awful at facing Albus, and yet sensation of relief wouldn't go away.

Scorpius held up the coin as proof, so Albus could see it; as if that would resolve his emotions, one way or another.

"Brilliant," Al muttered, taking his watered-down drink and downing it in one shot. "I'd almost forgotten you were an Auror for a night."

Scorpius felt his back tense at that. He really longed to tell Al off for that last parting shot, but Scorpius didn't have time to spark a duel to appease Albus' insecurities. And Scorpius had to think- and ending the night on a row was only going to cloud his emotions more than they were already.

"I've got to go," Scorpius muttered, patting his hair down in haste. "You can Floo yourself out, Al."

* * *

Scorpius rushed down the hall, trying to pretend he was wearing an invisibility cloak. When Scorpius had been little, he had played this very game when his conscience had been triggered by doing something awful: avoid eye contact, walk through the Manor quickly, and it became as though the incident had never happened. But these days, Scorpius was older, and could easily reason to himself that what he had done was nothing, and that he wasn't hurting anyone. He hadn't dueled anyone. He hadn't committed any crime, or lied to anyone regarding anything. _And yet . . ._

"Malfoy," It was Auror Weasley. Scorpius winced. Clearly, Scorpius was being castigated by the gods. Albus' face flashed into Scorpius' mind, but he pushed it aside, determined to focus on work for the moment.

"Hello sir," Scorpius smiled thinly. And, because he was his father's son, he added- "You've got a stain on your collar."

"And you're wearing a pair of trainers and jeans," Ron Weasley looked as though he was desperate to make Scorpius run the length of the bullpen. "Has the paperwork made you forget you are an Auror? Where are your robes, Malfoy?"

"In my office," Scorpius groaned. He could feels his thighs burning, and Auror Weasley hadn't even doled out the punishment yet. "I'm going to go get changed, give me two seconds and I'll fly there."

"Never mind that," Auror Weasley huffed. "The Head Auror wants you in his office. And tidy up your parchment, Malfoy. Or you'll become _petrified _and spellotaped to that desk!"

Scorpius winced as he walked away. Apparently tonight was the night of Weasley parting shots. But Auror Weasley was right, unlike Al's tossed-out barb. Scorpius was becoming a fixture in his office, and that was not good. If he was becoming a fixture that meant that he was becoming forgettable, and that all the better cases were being given away to others. And forgettable Aurors did not advance in their careers, no matter how close friends they were with the boss' son.

Scorpius rapped on the door of the Head Auror's office, two quick raps of his knuckles against the hard wood.

"If that's Malfoy then you're late," The Head Auror shouted through the door. "I'm putting you on an administrative leave."

"Shall I go away, then, sir?" Scorpius shouted back with a smothered grin. Harry Potter recognized Scorpius' _knock. _"Or shall I Floo down to the canteen and pop right back with tea?"

A moment later the door opened. "It would have also taken a sticky bun. Come in, Malfoy, and don't look so miserable. Did Auror Weasley find you?"

"You'd put me on leave, and he was going to have me running laps about the bullpen," Scorpius shrugged, and sighed. The ache in his shoulder was still there, but at least now it wasn't constantly throbbing. Perhaps he'd beg for rounds, now that he was in the main office.

The Head Auror sat down at his desk, adjusting his glasses. For a moment there was nothing but silence between them. Scorpius longed to ask him a thousand questions, but he feared the answers. Some were far too personal to ever ask anyone. Some had to do with the war. Some with his father. Some with himself. Some with their friendship. In the end, Scorpius went with the safest route, the route he always chose when he was unsure of himself. Scorpius leant forward, and asked, as suggestively as possible- "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I have an unusual case for you," The Head Auror leant back in his chair with a faint smile curving the edges of his mouth. In this position, the light from the candelabra directly across from his desk beamed a golden arc of illumination that buried itself in his dark, peppery hair. It was something so glorious and fine- something that looked as though it could only be recreated with the best of charms in a photography studio. At the same time, a shadow was cast along his forehead; erasing the Head Auror's fine lines of stress and worry.

Scorpius swallowed, biting his lip. The Head Auror looked up at him, and their eyes locked again. Neither of them moved, and neither of them looked away. The moment stretched until it became unbearable. Scorpius could feel his entire body tense, and the pit he had felt earlier in the evening with Albus returned again. This was _the duel, _in every sense of the word. Scorpius wanted to move, desperately; to leap out of his seat and leave, to cross the divide of the desk-

But instead he stared at his hands.

The Head Auror cleared his throat, staring at the wall to his left for a short moment, before returning to face Scorpius' gaze with perfect impartiality. "How is your shoulder?"

"It's fine," Scorpius looked up, surprised at the switch from the case to something actually, _slightly_ personal. "It's much better, I should be able to go back to rounds in the new year."

"I don't doubt it," The Head Auror smiled fondly as he stood up, and as a reflex, Scorpius stood up as well. Something about dueling made Scorpius uncomfortable in sitting when a wizard advanced on him. Or maybe it was the fact that every Malfoy tried to meet Harry Potter head on.

There was another pause.

"The case," Scorpius tried, feeling as though he wanted very badly to shout something _very_ stupid.

"_Ah,_" the Head Auror nodded, adjusting his glasses again. Scorpius used to delight in counting the times the Head Auror adjusted his glasses in Scorpius' prescience. Now, it was just another item to store away, and never speak of. "Right. Corner was doing his rounds of upper Hogsmeade, and he found a crup puppy. I thought you might be able to take it, at least for a bit. Your parents' estate . . ."

Harry let the sentence hang there. Scorpius drummed his fingers on Harry's desk for a moment, idly; barely aware of the pretense he had dropped, and the furniture he was abusing.

"I can't," Scorpius said regretfully. "My mum left her crups with me last weekend, and they're pretty vicious buggers." _I snogged Al last weekend. And tonight._

"Ah what a pity. We'll find another home for him, I reckon," Harry placed his hand over Scorpius', stopping his fingers and their mindless rhythm. Scorpius paused entirely at that- trying not to move, trying not to _breathe_ as Harry traced a soft, almost imperceptible pattern across the top of his palm. For a moment they stood there, side by side - so close that not even a sheet of parchment could fit between Harry's red robes, and Scorpius' thick blue jumper. The only true link between their bodies was the faintest tips of Harry's fingers against Scorpius' hand.

"I-" Scorpius whispered softly, turning to face him slightly. They were breathing the same, most, warm air - If either of moved even the slightest bit forward-

The Head Auror lifted his fingers, and in a decisive motion, patted down the cuff of Scorpius' jumper, smoothing down the fabric in an absentminded fashion. The moment had passed. He stepped away from Scorpius, _levitating_ a large stack of scrolls from one corner of the room to the other.

"Well, Malfoy I suppose that's all," the Head Auror said brusquely, and Scorpius knew that he'd been dismissed.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: This is a very late chapter. I know, I know. Things have been so hectic with me, and now, finally they calmed down. They should be calm (hopefully amazing!) until the end of the summer. So this short story should soon be done, especially since it really only has 2-3 more parts. I also owe everyone the last chapter of my H/D fic, if you're following that I have not forgotten. I am 90% done with that chapter, but things were really crazy lately, and when I started my new job AND school it became one fanfic or the other. Never again will I do two fanfics at once, that's a big Ravenclawish mistake to make. I really thought I could have both stories done by the end of spring break but then I got a job and now I am sharing too much info, please feel free to scroll along- _

_But don't forget to review. Thanks everyone!_

* * *

Part Nine:

After Scorpius left, Albus stayed behind in his cottage for a few moments, idly staring at the wall of signatures. The urge to down both drinks was great. The urge to snoop through Scorpius' things was even greater.

What had Albus said again?

Something about Scorpius being a follower and not a leader. _Gods_- he had meant it in jest, he had meant to be funny, but as soon as he had said it, he had realized that it was something that someone like Scorpius Malfoy would _not_ find amusing. Scorpius had spent his life trying to be different from everyone else, even if he wouldn't admit that out loud. His father was very to-the-Manor-born, and Scorpius saved lives for a living. Malfoys sorted Slytherin; and Scorpius sorted Gryffindor. Albus had thought that their rebellious streak would be the way they could connect, but it seemed it wasn't-

Scorpius had rebelled by becoming extraordinary in a family slinking back into tradition, and Albus had rebelled by being boring in an extraordinary family.

And yet-

And yet, Scorpius fancied him. Fancied him enough to kiss him. Fancied him enough to snog him more than once; enough to write him all week. Albus had saved the notes. They were silly little things, written on scraps of torn parchment- some were about Lily's party and the decorations and the band, others deviated from the script and went off into Scorpius' day. Sometimes Scorpius would just sign them simply _see you tomorrow S. _or _Floo me when you're at home._

Albus sighed heavily, tearing a hand through his thick, messy mane. He wasn't quite sure what his issue was, exactly. Every sign, every indication pointed to the fact that Albus and Scorpius were building _something_ out of their flirtation. It was what he wanted. It was what he had dreamed about; crawling under his green Slytherin duvet with his pants down; hoarding photos of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. And yet, Albus felt the need to dig under Scorpius' skin. He didn't know why, but he did. It went beyond the House rivalry facade, and into something else. Something more profound.

Perhaps it was the fact that Albus couldn't shake Scorpius' composure.

Maybe it was that bloody Auror training. But that didn't make sense. Albus could always rile his father with an eye roll, and Jamie with a snide remark; and they were trained to be unflappable. It could be due to the fact that Scorpius was a Pureblood and raised differently; but Albus had been in Slytherin, and he had been able to crack quite a few facades over time. In the end, Scorpius was just different.

It made him maddening. Fascinating. And it also made him a bit suspect. Perhaps that was part of the allure. Someone who was available, but not accessible.

Albus knew instinctively that he should probably leave well enough alone. After his mother died, Albus had piled up his own secrets. The fall out with his father; the months he had stayed with his Aunt Hermione to avoid going home. He had his own wounds that had hadn't healed, from years of toeing the Potter line. Maybe whatever Scorpius spoke in circles around had to do with his family; maybe it had to do with some bloke in the Ministry that he was covering for out of fear of reprisal- either way, Albus knew that he should leave the ward alone.

But he wasn't going to.

If Scorpius was going to be his, Albus wanted to _know._ And part of knowing meant knowing the competition, even if the competition was an elusive concept.

In the end, Albus looked over Scorpius' sitting room. It was _just_ the sitting room, he reasoned to himself. Albus didn't touch anything much, and he didn't go into the bedroom or outside to the grounds. Just the sitting room.

Scorpius didn't have much in the cottage. No books really. Albus had always sworn growing up that he would never date a wizard who wasn't well read, but that was ridiculous, and of course it tempted Fortuna. The only books on the table were two trashy knut-store fantasy novels, and a Trainee manual written by Uncle Ron- the foreword, of course, by the famed Head Auror Harry Potter.

As if Uncle Ron wasn't capable of writing a Ministry pamphlet on his own.

Albus took a turn around the cottage. There was nothing else left around; the cottage was pristine. A pair of muddy boots. Their drinks. A wireless. The Floo. Albus paused. He ought to leave. The guilt was beginning to burn past his Slytherin curiosity.

Albus gathered himself and strode toward the Floo. But as he made his way there, he paused. Right by the Floo was a small, unobtrusive black _banish_ bin. Albus stared at it. It was madness. Looking through someone's rubbish- the objects they had set aside to _banish-_

Albus winced. He stopped and strode back again. The bin was empty. The guilt burned through him now like a lance. He had _looked_ through Scorpius' trash like a common thief- like a fishwitch spying on her wayward husband. He had truly lost his mind. Perhaps it was true what they said about Slytherins-

_No_. There was something there.

Albus reached inside. It was a small glass vial; the kind that his mother used to receive in packages all the time from St. Mungo's. _Albus,_ she used to whisper, her lips cracked from the acidic brews, _tell me a story._

Albus sucked in a breath.

_S.H. Malfoy_ the bottle read. _For Chronic Pain._

* * *

Albus didn't hear from Scorpius the next day. He didn't expect to, considering what he had said in between their snogs, and the way they had parted; but it would have been nice in a ideal, Hufflepuffian paradise. Albus thought of writing Scorpius, but he didn't know what to say. _I didn't steal anything from your cottage, _sounded funny and like something a cocky Gryffindor might send. _I ransacked your sitting room because I've fancied you since I was twelve,_ was truthful, but it might get his Uncle Ron over to deliver a restraining ordinance. _Hello,_ was too short to convey his feelings; and Albus couldn't say _I'm sorry,_ because he was a Slytherin.

These were the excuses Albus gave himself every time the impulse to write came to him. But of course, he didn't really need an excuse to keep him from putting nub to parchment. Doing so would admit culpability, and that was something that a Slytherin only did upon pain of death.

So Albus didn't write. Albus didn't write anything at all that morning, actually. He didn't write the tailors to ask why his dress robes weren't ready for his fitting. He didn't write the Herbalist back to see about the flower arraignments, and Albus didn't _certainly_ didn't write _or_ Floo that Seer that Scorpius kept insisting would be a great diversion for the party.

Instead of handling his life like a responsible wizard, and salvaging his chance for a relationship with Scorpius Malfoy, Albus went for a walk. He took as long a walk as he could in the wizard park nearby his flat, which wasn't very far indeed. Halfway through his walk, Albus getting up the _idea_ to jog, when a photographer from the _Prophet_ snapped his arse as he bent over to do up his trainer's laces with his wand. Which meant that Albus' bum would be in the society column. Albus wouldn't mind, really- if the bloody, sodding, _shagging_ paper would print one of his stories. Just one.

_But why print a story when a photo was worth a thousand words_, Albus thought grimly.

Albus was about to walk right back home- to _not_ working and _not_ writing Scorpius Malfoy, but being photographed unaware propelled his mind from his state of inaction to a state of action. Slytherins always worked the best against an impossible force, and Albus Potter was no exception. Instead, Albus walked right home. He was going to tidy his flat, and then he was going to the green grocer, and he was going to buy something suitable for human consumption. Then he was going to cook it, and if Scorpius wasn't busy he was going to spend the meal trying his hand at wit-

Albus looked up at the sun. It was high in the afternoon sky; hidden behind a thin film of clouds. For London, it was pretty much the equivalent of a perfect, sunny day, despite the cold weather. Albus wasn't an optimist, but he felt better already. He Apparated back.

Albus had really only planned to slide through his wards, and quickly grab a small sack of gold that he kept hidden away for use on errands. Instead, his eyes fell on a thick note on Ministry vellum.

_Al-_

_I haven't written. I'm such a git sometimes. Can you Floo through the Ministry? I've got to ask you a favor and I can't come by myself later tonight- Jamie and I are going to see the Quidditch quarter-finals._

_SHM._

_PS- You should have your dad do up your wards, they're shit._

* * *

The ceiling was humming. Albus ignored the urge to look up. When he was a child, he had been fascinated by the way that the parchment birds took flight with the slightest of charms, carrying messages across the Ministry. Sometimes, when he had been especially tolerant of James' insults and Lily's pranks, his mum would let him go to work with his dad. While Jamie was busy trying to out-duel the trainees, and Lily was trying on the high heels of the witches who worked in the front desk, Albus would fold his father's paper cranes. James found it boring, and Lily was too small to get the creases right, but Al loved it.

He got to read everything, and his father didn't care. His father encouraged him, and was proud. Once in a while, even Uncle Ron came in to see Albus, still at his desk; folding nearly-identical birds with the precision of a Muggle machine.

"He'd make a better Auror then the lot of us," Uncle Ron muttered once, proudly. "At least his scrolls would be handed in on time."

Albus couldn't remember his father's response, but what he could recollect was the sensation of warmth- like hot cocoa sipped on the coldest of days. So it must have been _something_ positive.

The doors of the lift slid open, and a few witches slid out. A draft of cold air blasted the tiny, rising room, dispelling the memory. Albus tensed, his lip curling. He had _very_ few positive memories about his childhood with his father. And they all had to do with _before_.

Before his mother had- had-

The doors of the lift opened again. This was Albus' floor. He stepped off and his whole body seemed to tense. Everyone was either dressed in red robes, or in the long, body-hugging practice uniform that was fashioned out of black cotton, and weathered dragon-hide. They all looked the same, whether they were trainees, or Albus' own family members. Aurors all seemed to have that same sort of tense, narrowed-eyed expression-that hawk-like gaze that attempted to see where scrying could not. The air was always frantic here. Albus loathed the feeling of it all.

The floor opened from a long hallway of administrative offices to a circular set of small offices, cubicles really, which surrounded the bullpen where everyone seemed to continuously filter for exercise. Albus wondered how anyone concentrated in their offices when the noise of the bullpen was _not_ charmed out in any way.

_Perhaps that was some of the allure,_ Albus thought grimly, wincing as someone moaned, falling to their knees in defeat. _That_ sounded like something else, entirely.

"Albus Potter," A voice chirped into Albus' thoughts and he tensed again. "Remember me?"

Albus didn't. It was a pleasant enough looking witch, dressed in burgundy dress robes, accompanied with a white lace collar. She was young; she even looked too young to be a Ministry official in any sense of the phrase, but obviously she was. _Why _was it that every single Potter obsessive thought that Albus recognized him from the days his mum _levitated_ him around next to Lily_? _Or was she another of Jamie's desperate little flings-

"I-" Albus had no idea how to let witches down gently. He winced. Was the day getting better? _Merlin_, he felt as though he was being tortured by an overly precise Ravenclaw.

"Oh look-" the anonymous witch cried. "Here comes your dad! Auror Potter, sir! _Auror Potter, sir_!"

"You don't have to do that," Albus hissed, horrified. Somewhere in this sea of admittedly attractive, straight wizards- who were, of course, employed by his father- was Scorpius. Albus suddenly felt sixteen all over again, although he could no longer affect the precise cool that Albus tried for in Slytherin. Now Albus had gotten to close now to the source of it all, and there was no turning back. He knew things he couldn't have imagined six years ago. He knew the way Scorpius yawned when he was really tired, versus the way he yawned when Albus was being a tremendous bore, for example. Albus knew about the wall in Scorpius' cottage, and the pain potion.

He knew the way Scorpius tasted-

"Al," It was his father, walking toward them, with the whole of the Auror department watching as he strode. _Harry Potter in the flesh, standing right before me_-Albus snorted sarcastically to himself, as though he had a dizzy maiden narrating in his thoughts. _Merlin me, fetch me my smelling salts._

And yet, Albus couldn't help but think back to his childhood. When James, Lily, and Albus had been little they had all worshipped at the wreckage of their father's altar, just like everyone else. On the rare days that their dad hadn't worked late at the Ministry; James and Lily would queue up at the front gate, desperate to show off any little talent that they had learned in the last few days. Lily would take out all her dresses, and robes and model them, and Dad would critique, like on the wireless fashion shows. Jamie would always play Auror with Dad, just like the model son he pretended to be. Finally, when their father had exhausted all of his energy on Lily and Jamie, he would shuffle toward Albus' room.

Albus would be reading, usually, and the conversation was always stilted. Sometimes Albus would sit in the darkness staring into space, too resentful to come downstairs.

As Albus got older, his father's trips up the stairs became less and less frequent.

"Oh I know, it's the report," Dad continued, standing close to Albus' side as the conversation flew along without him. Albus glowered- some things _never_ changed. Harry Potter loved to play happy families, but Albus was quite sure that even if they were locked in a room together, they wouldn't have a word to say to one another- good or ill. Deira- whoever _she _was- tittered inanely, barely forming consonants. Albus bit back the urge to roll his eyes. The girl was saying nothing really, but the way she was tossing her hair, and smoothing her robes spoke volumes. Albus scowled at her. James and Lily had always made short work of whatever bint had tried to stick around their father longer than a week- and whenever the witches tried to befriend Albus out of frustration, he'd simply freeze them out.

Finally the cow left, a little more downtrodden than before.

"Al," Dad said grandly, as if the one word spoken majestically would cover up the fact he had nothing else to say to Albus. "You look good. Been dueling at the new gymnasium? Some of the trainees find it really increases skill- I bet it could do the same for creativity."

Albus narrowed his eyes, though he didn't say anything. His father had said that entire complimentary speech in the way some of Albus' married cousins spoke to him through the Floo. In fact, it was fairly dripping with false brightness and _this too shall Apparate. _

"I don't fly and I have remarkably little depth perception for someone with perfect vision," Al finally muttered- when his sense of outrage had passed. "Remember? I'm _that_ son."

Something glinted his father's eyes. _Check, _the smallest part of Albus hissed triumphantly in his mind.

"I know who you are, Al," Dad clipped out a sigh. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Albus smiled evenly, surveying the landscape- if it could be called that. In one corner, a bulky male sparred with a slim witch in a practice uniform. Albus frowned at the disparity in their weights, never mind the fact they were of different sexes- but he was fairly certain that lodging a protest would only make him more unpopular with his family.

Dad raised an eyebrow while narrowing his eyes and Albus continued, "I'm here to see Sc-Malfoy. He wrote me. Something about Lily's party."

The sentences were vague, distant. Curt. Safe. Across the room a few male voices shouted out obscenities in camaraderie, but Albus ignored them. His father was looking him down, carefully. Evenly. _As though he was a suspect_, Albus couldn't help but huff to himself.

"I heard," Dad continued lightly. "That you were helping Malfoy plan a party for your sister. It's really kind of you, Al. Putting everything aside."

_I heard your planning something,_ Albus interpreted loudly and clearly. He lowered his gaze awkwardly to the ground. One of his shoes, his best brown loafers, was undone. _Check_, to his father.

"Hello, hello," It was Scorpius. He came striding across the bullpen, and with an Auror's lucky grace, leapt over one of the one of the charmed blocks that had been _levitated_ over by a group of trainees for an obstacle course. Scorpius was wearing Muggle sweats and a t-shirt, instead of a practice uniform. Albus cursed himself. If he hadn't been so callous regarding Scorpius' career before, then he might have felt a bit less flustered admiring the pull of the fabric against Scorpius' chest.

"I'm interrupting something," Scorpius asked Albus' father. Albus tried not to say anything deliberately incendiary- this was Auror territory, and in it, Harry Potter was king. Kings always were addressed first. "Aren't I? I'll go over there and face the wall, erect a muffling charm, and hum very loudly until you're both done."

Dad adjusted his glasses. "Not at all, Malfoy, don't be mad. I'm off to my office since Albus has found you. You owe me parchment before you leave tonight, don't forget to see me before you leave with Jamie. I'll talk you later, Al."

"Everybody owes somebody something," Scorpius hummed to himself. It was part of a hook from a Weird Sisters song- Albus filed that away as new information about Scorpius. _Possible Weird Sisters fan. _"Hi, Al."

"Hello," Albus felt his cheeks flush. Idiotic bodily reactions. "You said to come."

"And you came," Scorpius grinned, looking Albus' body over in the manner Al hadn't dared. "Well, in the traditional sense."

Albus frowned deeply and Scorpius smiled again-rakishly, as if it would clear away his naughtiness. "I was wondering if you could call up a few venues. For the party. You see, the issue is when a Malfoy gets on the Floo, halls and pubs suddenly find themselves booked with weddings for the next hundred years."

"Of course," Albus nodded. This was a common issue in Slytherin, and the children of the families who had been neutral, or on the light side, often helped the others. For a price, anyway- it _was_ Slytherin, after all.

"Great," Scorpius paused for a moment. Across the bullpen, a group _whooped_ enthusiastically, and Albus flinched at the noise. "About yesterday- I should have Floo'd."

"I could have done as well," For Albus, this was as close to an apology as he ever gave without buying a gift. _I went through your things. I don't deserve whatever this is._

"Are you busy tomorrow?" Across the room someone shouted- _Malfoy! _"Or what about Friday night?"

"Friday," That gave Albus more time to prepare. And hopefully gave Scorpius more time to miss him. "I think you'd better go. Your friends are calling you-"

"They're not my friends," Scorpius laughed carelessly, walking away, then he turned around to walk the rest of the way backwards, to continue talking to Albus. "They're colleagues and wankers. Bye, Al!"

Scorpius _winked _at him before turning away again; sauntering out of sight. Albus stared, completely knocked off balance.

_Checkmate._


End file.
